D  FRO 


LOVm  aOLDING 


FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 


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FORWARD  FROM 
BABYLON 


BY 
LOUIS  GOLDING 


1921 

MOFFAT.  YARD  &   COMPANY 

NEW   YOBK 


FOR  MY  FATHER 


503217 


A  Glossary  of  some  Yiddish  ivords  is  g^ven  onp.  308. 


CONTENTS 


BOOK  I 
FORWARD   FROM   DOOMINGTON  WALLS 


II 
III 
IV 

V 


1 

14 
27 

42 
72 


BOOK   II 
FORWARD   FROM   PHYLACTERIES 


VI     . 

.    91 

VII     . 

.  126 

VIII     . 

.  142 

IX     . 

.  151 

X     . 

BOOK  III 
APHRODITE 

.  174 

XI     . 

.  187 

XII     . 

.  200 

XIII     . 

.  216 

XIV     . 

.  243 

XV     . 

.  272 

XVI     . 

.  285 

FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

BOOK  I 
FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS 

CHAPTER  I 

RUSSIA — here  was  the  first  Babylon.  Sitting  on 
the  metal  stool,  his  second-hand  velvet  suit 
fraying  against  the  heat  of  the  oven,  Philip's  big  eyes 
were  round  with  horror  of  this  immense,  inscrutable 
place.  Everything  they  said  was  portentous,  not 
wholly  real.  Many  of  their  words  attained  a  meaning 
only  after  laborious  thinking. 

"  Kossacken — big  as  trees  !  " 

*'  Big  spikes  in  front  of  the  Gubernator's  house  ! 
Babies  stuck !  Rachel,  the  parchment-maker's  daughter, 
caught  up  on  a  white  horse  !    Never  heard  of  again  !  " 

"  Blood  in  the  streets,  thick  !  " 

A  fear  and  a  helpless  rage  seized  the  faces  there, 
always  only  half  seen  in  the  gloom  of  the  kitchen.  By 
day,  beyond  the  bars  which  uselessly  scowled  against 
the  small  glass  panes,  the  drab  walls  of  the  house  next 
door  kept  away  everything  but  a  dirty  and  dubious 
light.  By  night,  the  flare  of  the  coal-gas  jet  distorted 
his  father,  Reb  Monash,  and  his  own  feet  on  the  fender, 
and  the  sofa  into  things  of  blurred,  awkward  lines. 


.2.  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

It  must  be  confessed  that  Reb  Monasb  Massel  was 
not  wboUy  unconscious  of  bis  power  to  produce  this 
atmosphere  where  terrible  and  impalpable  presences 
flowed  from  his  lips  in  a  shadowy  rout.  Sabres  flashing  ! 
Hilarious  ponderous  blasphemies  tangled  in  the  beards 
of  Kossacken  storming  onward  and  away  ! 

"  You've  heard  me  talk  of  Mendel,  the  Red  One  ? 
No,  not  the  shoemaker,  the  clerk !  It  was  when 
a  clerk  he  was,  in  the  woods  !  They  were  cutting 
the  Posne  firs.  They  knew  he  was  a  Jew,  the 
wood-cutters,  and  they  put  their  heads  together. 
Can  one  be  a  Jew  without  stabbing  the  goyishke  eyes, 
eh  ?  He  was  working  very  late  one  night ;  it  was  near 
the  end  of  the  month  and  he  had  all  his  accounts  to  make 
up.  Well,  he  was  bending  over  his  papers  very  busy, 
and  it  was  late,  after  midnight.  There  were  owls 
hooting  and  two  or  three  mad  dogs  in  the  woods  crying 
now  and  again.  It  was  very  miserable,  but  he  was  bent 
over  his  figures.  Above  his  head  the  air  sang  suddenly. 
He  lifted  his  head  and  a  knife  he  saw,  quivering  in  the 
log  wall  beyond  him,  to  his  left.  The  window  on  his 
right  was  wide  open  because  it  was  a  sultry  night.  He 
got  up  quietly  and  closed  the  window,  then  took  the 
knife  out  to  give  back  to  its  owner  next  day.  He  was 
setthng  down  to  his  work  again  when  his  eye  was  caught 
by  something  gleaming  in  the  opposite  wall.  They  were 
very  badly  built  log  cottages,  these,  pulled  down  as 
soon  as  the  trees  in  that  part  of  the  forest  were  cleared. 
Badly  built,  big  chinks  between  the  logs.  It  was  the 
gleam  of  a  gun  pointing  at  him  through  a  chink.  .  .  ." 

Somebody  uttered  a  sharp  cry.  Philip  on  the  fender- 
stool  sat  with  the  points  of  his  elbows  striking  into  his 
thighs,  his  chin  pressed  down  into  the  palms  of  his 
hands.  A  burning  coke  exploded  in  the  fire  and  a  frag- 
ment jumped  out  on  the  mat.    Mrs.  Massel  stooped  to  it 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS     3 

and  swiftly,  with  unprotected  hands,  threw  it  back  into 
the  fire. 

**  It's  already  a  long  time  ago,"  said  Reb  Monash.  "  I 
wasn't  fifteen  yet.  I  wasn't  married.  It's  all  over  now, 
it's  all  over.  Besides,"  he  went  on  comfortably,  at  the 
risk  of  disturbing  the  atmosphere  he  had  created  by  his 
subtle  modulations  of  tone,  his  pauses,  his  notes  of 
drawn  tension,  "  besides,  they'll  all  be  frying  in  hell, 
the  wood-cutters,  one  and  all  1    What  will  you  ?  " 

A  slight  murmur  of  satisfaction  went  round  among 
the  women.  The  assurance  coming  from  so  authorita- 
tive a  source  as  Reb  Monash  himself,  no  one  could 
doubt  that  the  wood-cutters  had  long  ago  met  their 
deserts  and  were  still  adequately  enduring  them. 

"  Nu  tatte,  what  about  Mendel,  the  Red  One  ?  "  This 
from  Philip  in  an  anxious  quaver. 

Reb  Monash  looked  round  and  down  on  Philip,  a 
significant  droop  in  his  eyelids,  his  lips  tightening  a 
little. 

"  Schweig"  he  said.  "  Silence  !  is  thy  tatte  running 
away  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  "  Mrs.  Massel  echoed,  very  quietly,  from 
her  corner  of  the  sofa. 

Reb  Monash  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  taking 
out  one  of  his  Silver  Virginia  cigarettes,  deliberately 
setting  it  in  his  mouthpiece,  lighting  it,  and  drawing 
smoke  two  or  three  times  contemplatively. 

Somebody's  foot  tapped  in  a  corner.  He  resumed. 
*'  Yah,  a  gun  pointing  at  him  through  a  chink.  What 
was  there  to  do,  I  ask  you  ?  If  they  fired — well,  they 
fired,  and  he  was  dead.  If  they  didn't  fire,  he  was  alive. 
And  if  a  man's  alive,  a  man  must  Hve.  Not  so  ?  So  he 
took  his  quill  in  his  hand  again  .  .  .  and  he  heard  a 
little  noise  in  the  wall  behind  him.  He  looked  round. 
Another  gun.    There,  held  by  unseen  hands  in  the  night. 


A  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Another  gun.  Pointing  at  him.  Two  guns  pointing  at 
him.  He  turned  round  to  his  table  again.  A  Jew's  not 
a  Jew  for  nothing.  He  said  a  few  blessings.  Thou 
hearest,  Feivel  ?  "  turning  to  Philip. 

Philip  swallowed  a  lump  in  his  throat  fearfully.  He 
was  afraid  to  answer.  It  was  perhaps  one  of  those 
rhetorical  questions  to  which  an  answer  was  somehow, 
mysteriously,  an  offence.  He  thrust  his  head  deeper 
into  his  hands  and  blinked. 

"  He  said  a  few  blessings,"  Reb  Monash  repeated,  to 
press  the  moral  home  upon  his  Hsteners.  "  Well,  what 
will  you  ?  He  was  a  good  clerk,  very  neat.  And  while 
the  minutes  in  his  clock  were  ticking  as  slowly  as  the 
years  during  the  Time  of  Bondage,  his  figures  he  brought 
over  from  column  to  column.  When  came  the  first  sign 
of  morning  so  that  the  lamp  shone  less  strongly  on  the 
two  guns  in  the  walls  there,  pointed  at  his  heart,"  these 
last  words  with  slow  emphasis  and  repeated,  "  pointed 
at  his  heart — he  dipped  his  head  and  hands  into  his 
bowl  of  water,  took  out  his  tallus  and  his  tephilim  ; 
and  when  he  was  passing  the  strap  round  his  arm,  he 
heard  very  faintly  the  guns  withdrawn  through  the 
chinks  in  the  walls.  But  he  could  hear  no  feet  creeping 
away.  Besides,  he  was  davenning ;  how  could  he 
listen  to  anything  else  ?  It's  only  God  you  must  think 
about  when  you're  davenning,  no  ? 

"  He  finished  when  it  was  abeady  day  in  his  hut. 
His  beard — it  was  a  small  beard,  only  a  young  man's 
beard — was  grey,  like  the  snow  in  Angel  Street.  He  did 
his  accounts  so  well,  did  Mendel,  the  Red  One — they 
always  called  him  the  Red  One,  even  after  that  night, 
and  strangers  wondered  why  Red  One — so  well,  that  the 
merchant  he  worked  for  increased  his  wages  by  a  rouble 
a  month  soon  after.  Oh,  a  Russia  it  was  !  \\^hat  say 
you  ?  " 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS     5 

By  this  time  Mrs.  Levine,  from  Number  Seven,  was 
soaked  in  tears,  lier  face,  her  blouse,  and  even  tlie  flour 
on  her  apron  was  streaky  and  damp.  She  had  come  in 
half-way  through,  but  any  anecdote,  sad  or  merry,  or 
merely  a  parable  to  illustrate  a  point  of  law,  invariably 
reduced  her  to  tears. 

"  Nu,  nu  I  "  said  Reb  Monash,  "  over  a  year  in  Jeru- 
salem !  "  which  was  a  signal  that  no  further  ramifica- 
tion was  to  be  expected  from  that  anecdote,  and  more- 
over, that  it  might  not  be  unwise  for  Mrs.  Massel  to 
drop  her  knitting  and  prepare  for  him  a  tumblerful  of 
tea  and  lemon,  with  a  lump  of  sugar — not  too  much 
lemon,  for  these  were  hard  times  ;  not  like  Russia, 
where  people  hung  round  your  neck  to  beg  the  privilege 
from  you  of  staying  with  them  as  a  guest  for  two  months, 
three  months,  as  long  as  you  liked.  Well,  that  was 
Russia,  but  what  could  you  expect  from  England  ? 
Pah  !  Yidishkeit  going  to  the  dogs  !  Young  men  he'd 
seen  with  his  own  eyes  shamelessly  boarding  those  new- 
fangled electric  tramcars  on  a  Shabhos  I  Which  involved 
a  double  offence  ;  not  only  riding  but  also  carrying 
money  in  their  pockets  to  pay  for  this  dissipation — 
money  on  Shahhos  ! 

pSo  it  seemed,  PhiKp  was  fitfully  made  aware,  that 
there  were  aspects  of  this  Russian  Babylon  which  com- 
pared very  favourably  with  the  situation  in  England,  or, 
more  precisely,  in  the  drab  Northern  city  of  Doomington, 
where  Philip  first  saw  the  light,  seven  years  before  ;  or, 
perhaps,  to  be  accurate,  in  Angel  Street,  where  the 
wire  factory  at  one  end  and  the  grocer's  shop  at  the 
other  were  the  limits  of  his  confident  experience.  Be- 
yond Moishele's'^shop  ("  grocer's  "  shop  only  for  con- 
venience, seeing"^that  his^stock-in-trade  extended  from 
sewing-machines  tojfish  and  beetroot),  Doomington 
Road  extended  its  sonorous  length,  where,  sole  oases 


«  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

in  this  desert  of  terror,  Philip  recognized  the  Bridgeway 
Elementary  School  and  the  Polish  Synagogue,  the 
Polisher  Shool. 

It  was  not  wholly  that  the  young  scions  of  Judaea  in 
Russia  were  so  far  from  committing  definite  sins  against 
God  and  Man  that  their  days  were  a  positive  round  of 
gratuitous  holiness.  Much  as  Philip  tried  dutifully  to 
rejoice  with  his  father  over  this  sanctity  of  young 
Russian  Jewry,  even  when  Reb  Monash  significantly 
expatiated  on  the  talents  of  young  gentlemen  only 
seven  years  old  who  steered  their  own  vessels  through 
the  dark  seas  of  Kaballah — it  was  not  this  piety  which 
set  Philip  brooding. 

The  landscape  which  his  elders  painted,  unconsciously 
and  incidentally,  as  a  background  to  their  memories, 
filled  his  mind  with  inchoate  sequences  of  pictures. 
To  the  Jewish  mind  there  is  only  one  landscape  which 
purely  for  its  own  sake  arrests  the  mind  and  the  heart. 
Each  detail  of  Jordan  or  Lebanon  is  impressed  centuries 
too  deep  for  its  deletion  under  snow  or  dissolution  under 
fire.  Plateau  of  Spain,  the  turbid  flow  of  Volga,  the 
squalid  nightmare  of  Doomington  Road,  are  matters  of 
indifference  to  the  Judaic  protagonists  while  the  great 
drama  develops  along  its  austere  and  shoddy  ways 
towards  some  denouement  far  beyond  the  invisible  hills. 
To  Reb  Monash  the  Orthodox  Greek  Church  he  had 
known  at  home  and  from  which  his  eyes  turned  bitterly 
away,  whence  the  black-hearted  pappas  came  forth 
and,  on  seeing  Reb  Monash,  grimaced  and  bit  his  lips, 
had  imperceptibly  become  the  Baptist  Missionary 
Chapel  at  the  corner  of  Travers  Row,  whence  the  Rev. 
Wilberforce  Wilkinson  emerged  from  time  to  time, 
bestowing  on  every  Reb  Monash  or  PhiUp  Massel  who 
came  that  way  a  smile  beatific  with  missionary  invitation. 

But  it  was  a  matter  of  much  concern  to  Philip  that 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS     7 

the  Dniester  which  flowed  beyond  the  pear-orchards 
(pear-orchards  !  he  tried  wistfully  to  recreate  them 
spreading  their  splendid  snows  beyond  the  kitchen  wall- 
paper) was  clean  as — clean  as  the  water  in  the  scullery  tap. 
Which  seemed  mythological.  Philip's  acquaintance  with 
rivers  was  limited  to  the  River  Mitchen  that  flowed  on 
the  further  side  of  the  wire  factory  and  parallel  with 
Doomington  Road.  The  river  stank — literally  and 
abundantly.  When  it  rose  after  the  spring  floods  of  two 
years  ago,  the  cellars  of  Angel  Street  were  a  wash  of 
noisome  and  greasy  waters. 

"  It  happened  in  the  centre  of  a  forest  ..."  said  one. 
"  Trees — the  sun  never  got  through  their  leaves  in 
summer  ..."  said  another.  "  Yes,  she  had  her  own 
vines  and  fig  trees.  ..."  "...  Corn,  barley,  all 
rotten  in  the  rains  .  .  ."  *'.  .  .  and  after  that,  to 
finish  them,  they  had  five  haystacks  burned  to  the 
ground  ;  "  "  the  orchard  by  the  river,  near  the  Woman's 
Pool  ..."  they  said  to  each  other. 

It  was  little  more  than  words  to  Philip.  It  seemed 
illogical  that  there  should  be  a  river,  which,  being  a  river, 
did  not  stink.  Fruit  could  hardly  be  dissociated  from 
the  baskets  and  trays  at  Moishele's  shop.  True,  there 
were  unconvincing  pictures  of  fruit  trees  in  the  class- 
room at  school,  but  they  lent  only  a  feeble  corrobora- 
tion. 

And  then  inevitably  the  talk  came  round  from 
orchards  and  clean  rivers  to  the  old  Babylonian  horrors. 

"  It  happened  in  winter.  I  stood  in  the  trunk  of  a 
rotten  tree  till  nightfall.  All  day  I  could  hear  the 
women  screaming  and  the  horses  of  the  Kossacken  storm- 
ing in  from  the  country.  They  set  fire  to  Miriam's 
house,  and  when  she  came  to  the  window  holding  her 
hands  out  to  the  crowd  .  .  .  they  threw  a  broken 
wine  bottle  in  her  face.  ..." 


8  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

When  Reb  Monasli  fell  into  his  best  anecdotic  form, 
Philip  sometimes,  only  a  year  or  two  ago,  had  been 
afraid  to  venture  beyond  the  front  door,  in  fear  of 
Kossacken  galloping  in  with  drawn  sabres  from  Dooming- 
ton  Road.  Indubitably  the  night  was  compact  with 
their  menace.  Only  gradually  he  shook  off  these  alarms. 
England,  he  realized,  the  very  filth  of  the  Mitchen  river 
impressing  it  upon  him,  and  the  grime  of  these  grassless, 
clangorous  streets,  England  was  not  Russia — a  know- 
ledge won  only  after  thick  agony  and  his  brow  soaked 
with  midnight  terror.  Russia — the  first  Babylon — the 
dread,  the  enmity,  faded  into  the  murky  Doomington 
skies. 

One  scene  remained  with  him  to  consummate  this 
nightmare.  Reb  Monash  told  the  story  frequently. 
If  he  had  played  a  part  whereat  women  lowered  their 
respectful  eyes  with  a  fleeting  gesture  of  disapproval 
or  impatience,  his  piety  none  the  less  was  confirmed, 
if  it  needed  confirmation,  in  the  eyes  of  the  Lord 
Himself. 

It  was  many  years  ago  now,  years  before  Philip  was 
bom.  Reb  Monash  at  last  was  emigrating  from  Russia  to 
the  Western  world.  His  family  and  half  a  dozen  other 
families  had  been  packed  into  the  uncovered  emigrants' 
cart  which  was  to  take  them  to  the  railway  terminus 
many  leagues  away,  where  they  would  entrain  for  Ger- 
many and  Hamburg.  It  was  a  matter  of  no  interest 
to  the  authorities  that  at  most  a  dozen  people  could 
breathe  comfortably  and  stretch  their  limbs  in  the 
vehicle  they  provided.  Family  after  family  was  bundled 
in,  every  half-foot  of  extra  space  was  crammed  with 
bedding  "and  the  few  household  goods  which,  the  more 
cumbrous  they  were,  they  found  the  more  indispensable. 
RWhy,  indeed,  Reb  Monash  was  emigrating  he  had  not 
precisely  satisfied  himself.     Though  fear  of  a  pogrom 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS     0 

hovered  ever  on  the  horizon,  a  cloud  no  bigger  than  a 
man's  hand,  but  liable,  any  wind  of  prejudice  blowing, 
to  streak  the  sky  with  more  sanguine  hues  than  sunset, 
this  had  been  beyond  memory  so  much  a  normal  feature 
of  existence  that  it  could  not  have  been  the  determining 
factor.  If  the  traditional  wanderlust  animated  him,  he 
was  too  much  in  demand  as  an  orator  in  the  synagogues 
hundreds  of  miles  round  Terkass  to  lack  means  to  gratify 
his  instinct.  It  cannot  have  been  the  sentiment  that 
young  Jewry  in  England  and  America  (where  he  was 
intending  to  end  his  provisional  pilgrimage)  had  so  far 
fallen  from  grace  that  it  needed  the  example  of  his 
physical  presence  before  it  could  resume  the  narrow 
road  ;  it  can  hardly  have  been  that — for  such  ungodli- 
ness as  prevailed  in  England  and  America  needed  to  be 
seen  before  it  could  be  imagined. 

"  But  there  we  were,"  said  Reb  Monash,  "  Chayah,'* 
this  being  Mrs.  Massel,  "  ^ith  little  Rochke,  peace  be 
upon  her,  at  her  breast,  and  myself  and  Dorah  and  little 
Channah.  Oh,  what  a  wind  was  blowing !  Knives  ! 
Packed  like  dead  men  in  coffins  we  were  !  Then  the 
driver  cracked  his  whip  and  we  were  away.  It  was  a 
desolate  country,  only  we  could  see  the  long  road  in 
front  and  overhead  the  cold  clouds  and  the  fir  trees 
running  along  the  road  by  our  side,  patiently,  like 
wolves  !  We  could  only  hear  the  wind  and  the  bells  of 
the  horses  and  their  hoofs,  click-click,  click-click, 
hour  after  hour.  But  though  the  wind  blew  so  cold  in 
our  faces,  there  was  no  room  to  breathe,  no  room. 
To  stretch  out  the  chest,  an  impossible  thing.  And 
then  there  was  a  station  at  the  roadside  where  we 
stopped  and — imagine  it !  they  put  another  five,  six 
people  in  the  cart.  Think  of  it !  We  started  to  grumble 
and  some  of  the  women  and  girls  began  to  cry.  What  do 
you  expect  ?    They  were  half-dead  for  sleep.    But  how 


10  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

could  they  sleep,  crushed  like  that,  standing,  with  no 
room  to  bend,  let  alone  lie  down,  and  the  wind  driving 
through  their  chattering  teeth.  There  was  an  ofi&cial 
there.  '  Curse  you ! '  shouted  he,  when  he  heard  us 
lift  our  voices,  '  Curse  you  ! '  " 

"  May  he  be  cursed  to  his  father's  father !  "  every  one 
in  the  kitchen  muttered  bitterly. 

"  '  Curse  you  for  a  lousy  lot — you  beggars,  you  rats  ! 
Ugh  ! '  He  spat  into  the  cart,  in  amongst  us.  Nu,  we 
did  what  possible  was  to  let  the  new  people  come  in. 
Can  you  picture  for  yourselves — Oh  !  you  can*t — what 
it  was  like  ?  Rochke,  peace  be  upon  her,  was  at  the 
breast.  We  could  hear  the  poor  baby  crying  for  food, 
eh,  Chayah  ?  " 

But  Mrs.  Massel  could  never  bear  the  telling  of  this 
tale.  She  would  be  in  the  scullery  peeling  potatoes. 
Not  washing  up.  It  was  indiscreet  to  make  a  noise 
when  Reb  Monash  was  talking.  If  PhiUp  dropped  a 
book,  Reb  Monash  had  to  pause  a  full  minute  until  he 
recovered  the  evenness  of  his  flow. 

"  Poor  little  Rochke,  peace  be  upon  her,  crying  for 
food  !  And  so  crushed  were  we  that  there  wasn't  even 
room  to  feed  the  child,  though  everybody  understood 
and  tried  to  make  room.  Now,  perhaps  you'll  realize 
what  it  was  like.  As  the  child  became  more  and  more 
hungry  she  became  too  weak  even  to  cry.  It  was  getting 
dark  and  I  started  my  night  prayers.  Then  I  heard 
Chayah  shout  to  me,  '  Monash  !  Monash  !  '  It  was  not 
the  first  time  she'd  cried  '  Monash  ! '  to  me  that  day. 
What  could  I  do  ?  What  help  was  there  ?  I  just  went 
on  davvenning.  Ah,  the  poor  child,  the  poor  child,  God 
wanted  thee  !  " 

His  eyes  softened.  There  was  a  huskiness  in  his 
throat.  The  women  in  the  kitchen  Ufted  their  aprons  to 
their  eyes.      If  there  were  any  men  there  they  cleared 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  11 

their  throats  staunchly.  Philip  sat  on  the  fender  stool, 
his  heart  bursting  with  pity  for  his  mother.  "  Poor 
mother  !  my  own  poor  mother  !  "  he  felt  like  whispering 
into  her  ear  and  throwing  his  arms  round  her  neck  and 
assuring  her  that  he  was  alive  and  he  would  love  her 
and  die  for  her  at  the  last.  But  he  remembered  that  he 
was  not  encouraged  to  display  vehemently  his  passion 
for  his  mother.  Very  gently  he  slipped  from  the  stool, 
turned  round  into  the  scullery  and  took  a  knife  to  help 
her  peel  the  potatoes.  At  all  events,  he  would  not  allow 
her  to  work  so  cruelly  hard.  Why,  her  fingers  were  dry 
and  thin !  No  !  he  would  never  let  her  work  like  this. 
Never  mind,  when  he  grew  up  .  .  . 

"  Poor  child,  poor  child  !  "  Reb  Monash  continued, 
his  voice  a  trifle  unsteady.  "  How  can  I  tell  you  ? 
She  was  suffocating  there.  No  room  for  her  Kttle  lungs 
to  open  and  draw  breath  1  '  Monash,  the  child,  the 
child ! '  Chayah  was  saying.  What  could  I  do  ? 
How  could  I  understand  ?  Besides,  I  was  davvenning — 
how  could  I  interrupt  ?  And  her  little  face  was  growing 
grey.  What  ?  Do  you  understand  ?  There  was  no 
room  for  her  heart  to  beat  ...  so  her  heart  stopped 
beating !  " 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  The  suffocation  which  had 
gripped  the  child  in  that  monstrous  cart  years  ago 
seemed  to  occupy  the  kitchen  in  Angel  Street.  It  was 
not  only  the  shut  window  ;  the  beneficence  of  the 
architects  of  Angel  Street  had  declared  that  kitchen- 
windows  should  be  close-sealed  as  a  wall.  It  was 
not  the  shut  doors ;  the  doors  were  always  shut 
because  a  "  draught "  aggravated  Reb  Monash's 
cough  and  rendered  him  speechless  for  minutes.  That 
suffocation  from  the  Russian  road  had  descended  upon 
Angel  Street.  Some  one  opened  his  collar  and  craned  his 
neck  for  air. 


12  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  But,  of  course,  Chayah  would  not  believe  that 
anything  had  happened  to  the  child.  I  could  only  see 
Rochke  very  indistinctly  because  we'd  been  separated 
by  the  crowd.  '  It's  only  a  fit !  Shake  her,  shake  her, 
if  thou  canst ! '  I  said.  '  Or  perhaps  a  sickness  of  the 
stomach  ! '  said  Chayah.  '  It  will  be  well  with  the  child 
when  we  stop  and  get  down  !  She'll  have  some  air  and 
food,  and  she'll  be  all  right,  no  ?  Oh  yes,  she  will,  she 
will !  Sleep  then,  sleep  then,  babynu,  all  in  mammy's 
arms  !  '  she  sang. 

"  God  alone  knows  what  the  place  was  where  we 
stopped  to  change  horses.  And  Rochke,  peace  be  upon 
her  ?  Well,  what  need  to  talk  ?  She's  happier  than  you 
or  me.  Oh,  but  what  an  ornament  to  the  race  she  would 
have  been  !  Such  eyes,  the  little  one,  holy,  like  an  old 
woman's  !  But  wait,  the  story's  not  finished  yet. 
Can  it  be  believed  ?  The  officials  there,  they  wanted  us 
to  continue  the  journey  with  the  dead  child  !  The 
smirched  of  soul,  the  godless  ones  !  Wanted  us  to  go  on 
with  the  dead  child  !  And  when  even  they  saw  it  was 
against  God  and  Man,  they  wanted  to  bury  her  there 
and  then,  in  unconsecrated  ground  !  Oi !  Oi !  has  it 
been  heard  of  since  Moses  ?  But  always  put  your 
trust  in  the  Above  One  and  all  will  be  well  with  you. 
Know  that !  Think  of  us,  in  the  wilderness,  with  a 
dead  baby,  and  no  holy  ground  to  bury  her  and  not  a 
friend  anywhere.  The  cart  had  gone  on  to  the  next 
stage,  with  Dorah  and  Channah.    Think  of  us  ! 

"  It  was  then  the  Above  One  came  to  our  help.  A 
Jewish  merchant  was  on  the  road  with  a  load  of  dried 
fruit.  He  stopped,  God  be  thanked,  at  the  station, 
and  we  told  him  how  things  lay  with  us.  And  would  you 
believe  it  ?  Not  a  penny  he  would  take — not  much  was 
there  to  give — but  he  took  the  baby  away  and  gave  her 
holy  burial  in  his  own  town  !    Be  his  years  long  in  the 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  13 

land  !  May  his  seed  multiply  to  the  fourth  and  fifth 
generation  !  And  so  all  is  well  with  Rochke,  peace  be 
upon  her !  " 

Reb  Monash  obviously  drew  much  consolation  for 
the  whole  episode  from  the  fact  that  the  Above  One  had 
shown  him  this  signal  favour,  and  the  last  offices  had  been 
performed  unimpeachably  over  Rochke's  body. 

But  perhaps  Philip  was  too  young  to  be  comforted 
by  the  thoughts  of  the  propriety  with  which  the  incident 
had  closed.  He  could  only  see  very  clearly  the  figures  of 
his  mother,  blank-eyed,  her  hands  empty,  standing  alone 
in  Babylon,  in  that  bleak  Russian  night. 


CHAPTER  II 

PHILIP  had  not  yet  recovered  from  the  dull  dis- 
may with  which  he  had  found  himself  installed  as 
a  scholar  in  the  Infants'  Class  of  the  Bridgeway  Ele- 
mentary School.  He  had  attained  the  age  of  five. 
Within  quite  recent  memory  he  had  been  breeched. 
He  still  remembered  the  pocket  in  his  skirt  which 
was  crammed  with  "  stuffs " — the  main  merchan- 
dise of  his  companions,  snippets  of  prints,  calicoes, 
alpacas  and  linen  rags  picked  up  below  the  maternal 
needles  and  generally  on  the  doorsteps  of  Angel 
Street. 

Reb  Monash  was  by  no  means  hostile  to  the  idea  that 
Philip  should  acquire  a  Gentile  education,  on  the  broad 
understanding  that  it  should  not  outshadow  Philip's 
accomplishment  in  Hebrew  lore.  It  went  without 
saying  that  labour  on  the  Saturday  should  be  anathema 
under  any  concatenation  of  the  links  of  Fate.  Moreover, 
the  law  of  the  land,  in  the  person  of  the  "  School  Board," 
had  been  eyeing  him  significantly. 

"  It's  time  Philip  should  begin  school !  "  said  Reb 
Monash  shatteringly  one  evening.  Philip  lay  dozing  on 
the  horse-hair  sofa.  His  heart  shook  before  the  joint 
assault  of  a  great  joy  and  a  great  fear.  "  School " — 
that  unfathomable  place  of  red  brick  and  towering 
windows,  where  the  "  lads  "  went,  the  swaggering  young 
men  who  jumped  from  pavement  to  pavement  of  Angel 
Street  in  five  jumps ;    where  one  was  brought  into 

14 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  15 

direct  visual  contact  witli  "  pleaseteacher,"  a  thing 
beyond  all  imagination  lovely  and  terrible. 

"  So  Channah,  thou  wilt  not  go  to  work  to-morrow 
morning.  He's  an  old  man,  Philip,  and  he  must  make 
his  start  in  life." 

"  AU  right,  tatte  !  "  Channah  murmured.  She  thought 
ruefully  of  the  fourpence  or  eightpence  less  it  would 
mean  in  her  week's  total  as  a  buttonhole  hand.  But 
she  was  devoted  to  Philip  and  his  wise,  elderly  ways,  and 
the  thought  of  setting  his  feet  upon  the  paths  of  that 
learning  whence  her  own  feet  had  been  rudely  torn  on 
the  morning  of  Philip's  birth  was  worth  the  sacrifice  of 
many  fourpences. 

Philip's  face  shone  soapily  next  morning.  His 
black  hair  lay  stretched  in  rigidly  parallel  formations  on 
both  sides  of  his  impeccable  parting.  Channah  had 
shined  his  button-boots  with  so  much  rubbing  and  spit- 
ting into  congealed  blacking  that  his  boots  seemed  to 
focus  all  the  light  in  the  kitchen.  His  mother  had 
adorned  his  blouse  with  a  great  bow  of  vermilion 
sateen. 

"  Is  pleaseteachers  like  policemans  ?  "  Philip  asked, 
as  Channah  led  him  by  a  hand  clammy  with  apprehen- 
sion along  the  Doomington  Road  to  the  Bridgeway 
Elementary  School. 

"Oh  no  !  Pleaseteachers  are  much  more  lovely  !  " 
was  the  reply.  "  Policemen  only  lock  little  boys  up,  but 
pleaseteachers  give  'em  toffee — and  flowers  I  " 

"  And  flowers  ?  "  echoed  Philip  incredulously. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  entrance  to  the  school,  a 
sudden  nausea  overwhelmed  Philip. 

"  I'se  not  going  to  school !  "  he  said  suddenly  and 
firmly. 

"  Feivele,  what  do  you  mean  ?  '* 

*'  I'se  not  going  !  " 


16  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

'*  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  Why  aren't  you 
going  ?  " 

"  Bat's  why  !  " 

But  Channah  had  not  come  unprepared  for  such  an 
emergency.  Mrs.  Massel  had  anticipated  it  with  a  stick- 
jaw of  Moishele's  best.  She  held  it  towards  the  child  and 
made  provocative  labial  noises. 

"  Aren't  you  going  now  ?  " 

"  No  !  "    he  said  a  little  more  doubtfully. 

She  had  another  weapon  in  the  armoury. 

"  Tatte  will  give  you  such  a  pitch-patch  !  "  she  said 
threateningly — pitch-patch  being  a  form  of  castigation 
among  all  nations  as  constant  in  method  as  it  is  variable 
in  name. 

In  the  surge  of  new  fears,  Reb  Monash  had  been 
temporarily  obscured.  Philip's  mind  travelled  back 
swiftly  to  the  knees  of  Reb  Monash  where  at  so  sinless 
an  age  he  had  already  lain  transversely  more  than  once. 
He  contemplated  the  possibility  of  pitch-patch  for  some 
moments. 

"  Gib  me  de  stickjaw,  den  !  "  he  said. 

"  You  can't  eat  it  now  !  " 

"  One  suck  !  "  he  wheedled. 

They  passed  duly  through  the  vestibule  into  the  great 
"  infants'  hall."  At  its  geometrical  centre  the  principal 
pleaseteacher  sat,  pavilioned  in  terrors.  A  few  words  of 
high  import  passed  between  Miss  Featherstone  and 
Channah.  Before  Philip's  eyes  the  walls  soared  end- 
lessly into  perpendicular  space.  There  was  no  ceihng. 
He  made  the  hideous  discovery  that  there  was  no  floor 
to  the  room.  His  shining  boots  hung  suspended  in 
space.  Strange  antiphonies  propounded  and  expounded 
the  cosmic  mysteries.  He  was  lost.  He  was  rolling 
headlong  among  the  winds,  like  a  piece  of  cotton-fluff 
lifted  high  above  the  roofs  of  Angel  Street. 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  17 

What  was  this  ?  The  pleaseteacher  was  looking  at 
him  ;  her  mouth  was  opening  ;  there  were  big  cracks 
on  each  side  of  her  nose.  Yes,  she  was  smiling  into  him. 
He  resumed  his  ponderable  qualities.  He  was  a  Httle 
boy  dismally  sick  in  the  infants'  hall  of  the  Bridgeway 
Elementary  School.  He  preferred  to  be  a  piece  of 
cotton-fluff.    It  was  a  more  impersonal  doom. 

"  What's  your  name,  Httle  boy  ?  " 

He  wondered  whether  it  was  an  impertinence  to  reply. 
It  was  funny  and  dry  at  the  back  of  his  throat.  He 
stared  fixedly  at  the  crack  on  the  left  side  of  her  nose. 

"  What's  your  name,  little  boy  ?"  A  certain  acidu- 
lation  had  thinned  her  voice. 

"My  name  Feivele  an'  I  live  at  ten  Angel  Street  an'  I'm 
five  years  old  an'  my  farver's  Rebbie  Massel !  "  he  said, 
the  words  trembling  out  in  a  bewildered  spate. 

"Will  you  ask  your  brother  to  speak  a  little  more 
slowly  and  distinctly,  Miss  Massel  ?  Thank  you.  Now 
what's  your  name,  little  boy  ?  " 

"  Philip  Massel,  pleaseteacher  !  " 

"  Now,  Philip  Massel.  I'm  your  head  mistress.  You 
must  call  me  Miss  Featherstone.  Miss  Briggs  !  "  she 
called,  "  Miss  Briggs !  Will  you  please  put  Philip 
Massel  into  your  class  ?  "  Then  turning  to  Philip, 
"  You  will  kindly  call  Miss  Briggs  *  teacher.*  You 
understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  pleaseteacher  !  " 

"  Stupid  !  But  he'll  soon  know  better,"  she  assured 
Channah. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Featherstone  !  "  Channah  corroborated. 
Philip's  hand  feverishly  held  his  sister's  all  this 
while. 

"  You'd  better  just  see  him  to  his  place,"  said  Miss 
Featherstone  to  Channah,  as  Miss  Briggs  led  the  way  to 
her  class. 


18  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  Sit  here,  Pkilip,"  said  Miss  Briggs, "  next  to  Hyman 
Marks !  " 

"  Don't  go  'way,  don't  go  'way !  "  Philip  huskily 
implored  Channah.  Hundreds  of  scornful  eyes  were 
stripping  him  bare  of  his  blouse,  his  shined  boots,  his 
bow  of  vermilion  sateen,  till  they  all  lay  at  his  feet  in  a 
miserable  heap  and  he  shivered  there  in  the  cold,  naked, 
despised.    "Don't  go  'way  !  "  he  moaned. 

Channah  looked  despairingly  towards  Miss  Briggs. 

Miss  Briggs  seized  her  chalk  significantly.  It  was  time 
the  new-comer  had  settled  down. 

"I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Channah,  "I'll  go  to 
Moishele's  and  buy  you  a  ha'pny  tiger  nuts  and  a  box  of 
crayons.    And  I'll  come  back  straight  away." 

"  Promise  !  "  he  demanded  in  anguish. 

"  Emmes  !  "she  said,  invoking  the  Hebrew  name  of 
Truth. 

"  Emmes  what  ?  "  He  knew  that  Truth  unsupported 
by  an  invocation  to  the  Lord  was  a  weak  buttress. 

"  Emmes  adoshem  !  "she  said,  her  heart  sinking  at  the 
perjury.  But,  she  consoled  herself,  it  was  not  as  if  she 
had  sworn  by  the  undiluted  form  of  the  oath,  "  Emmes 
adonoi  !  "  from  the  violation  of  which  solemnity  there 
is  no  redemption. 

Philip  saw  her  disappear  through  the  doors.  A  black 
cloud  of  loneliness  enveloped  him  until  he  could  hardly 
breathe.  The  terrifying  sing  -  song  of  these  young 
celebrants  at  their  fathomless  ceremony  had  begun 
again. 

Twice  one  are  two. 
One  and  one  are  two  ! 
Twice  two  are  four. 
Two  and  two  are  four  ! 

Fantastic  hieroglyphs  danced  across  the  blackboard 
at  the  dictate  of  Miss  Briggs'  chalk.    The  heavy  minutes 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  19 

ticked  and  ticked  in  a  reiteration  of  monochrome  and 
despair. 

Twice  one  are  two, 

One  and  one  are  two  / 

What  teeth  she  had,  Miss  Briggs !  Not  like  his 
mother's  !  A  little  yellow  his  mother's  were,  but  small 
and  neat,  as  he  observed  whenever  she  smiled  one  of  her 
tired  and  sweet  smiles.  What  was  the  specific  purpose 
of  Miss  Briggs'  teeth  ?  Why  should  those  two  at  the 
top  in  front  be  so  large  and  pointed  ?  He  had  heard 
old  Mo  who  sold  newspapers  tell  tales  about  canninbles. 
Wass  Miss  Briggs  a  canninble  ?  Oh  the  long,  long 
Channahless  minutes  !  When  would  she  come  ?  What  ? 
Some  one  was  whispering  behind  him. 

"  Say,  kid  !  " 

Philip  was  afraid  to  turn  round.  What  would  Miss 
Briggs  do  if  he  turned  round  ?  And  she  had  two  such 
horrid  teeth,  at  the  top,  in  front ! 

"Say, kid!    Gotanyfing?" 

Philip  turned  his  head  round  fearfully.  A  villainously 
scowling  face  was  bent  over  from  the  bench  behind 
towards  his  own. 

"  Aven't  yer  got  nuffing  ?  " 

Philip  looked  helplessly  into  the  forbidding  face. 

"  I  tell  yer,  kid !  "  the  voice  menaced,  "  if  yer  don't 
gib  me  anyfing,  I'll  spifflicate  yer  !  " 

The  process  of  spifflication  sounded  as  terrible  as  it 
certainly  was  vague.  Philip  put  his  hand  into  his 
trouser-pocket  where  the  lump  of  stickjaw  lay  warmly 
spreading  its  seductive  bounties  over  the  lining.  To 
part  with  a  whole  lump  of  stickjaw  from  which  the  one 
due  he  had  extracted  was  a  single  suck  !  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  spifflication !  And  moreover,  soon,  oh 
surely  very,  very  soon,  Channah  would  come  back  with 
the  tiger  nuts,  not  to  mention  the  box  of  crayons. 


20  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

He  drew  the  lump  of  sticky  languor  from  his  pocket.    A 
grubby  fist  from  behind  closed  round  it. 

Twice  two  are  four  f 
Two  and  two  are  four  / 

Faithless  Channah  !  How  could  the  mere  passing  of 
time  be  such  a  labour  ?  He  subsided  into  a  daze  of 
stupefaction;  only  the  hope  of  Channah's  appearance 
buzzed  and  buzzed  like  a  fly  on  the  ear-drum.  A  great 
tear  rolled  slowly  down  his  face.  Another  followed 
and  another.  They  dropped  into  the  bow  of  vermiHon 
sateen.  Suppose  his  mother  should  die  in  his  absence  ? 
Or  there  might  be  a  big,  big  fire  !  And  just  sup- 
pose. .  .  . 

A  great  clangour  of  bells  !  Miss  Featherstone  on  her 
dais  shut  a  book  with  a  loud  snap.  Miss  Briggs  defini- 
tively placed  her  chalk  on  her  desk.  A  pleaseteacher 
from  another  class  walked  with  dignity  over  to  the  piano 
at  the  far  end  of  the  hall.  She  lifted  the  lid  and  played 
a  slow  march.  The  top  class  filed  out  from  the  desks, 
advanced  in  single  order  to  a  red  line  which,  starting  a 
few  feet  from  Miss  Featherstone's  dais,  led  to  the  door  ; 
the  class  marched  along  the  red  line  and  passed  with 
decorum  from  the  hall.  When  Philip  walked  the  red 
line  in  his  turn  he  was  wondering  whether  he  ought  to  be 
placing  each  foot  centrally  upon  the  line.  Dizzily  he 
staggered  along.  When  at  last  he  rushed  out  into  the 
road,  wild  with  the  relief  from  servitude,  Mrs.  Massel 
was  waiting  for  him  outside  the  school  entrance,  and 
when  she  lifted  him  from  his  feet,  he  howled  with 
fearful  delight. 

His  heart  was  full  of  resentment  against  Channah  for 
her  ignoble  desertion.  "  Channah  de  Pannah,  de 
big  fat  fing !  "  he  jeered,  when  he  saw  her  at  dinner.  Only 
the  surface  of  his  wound  was  healed  when  she  bestowed 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  21 

upon  him  not  only  the  tiger  nuts  and  the  box  of  crayons 
but  a  gratuitous  tin  trumpet  gay  with  scarlet  wools. 

He  refused  vehemently  to  return  to  school  that  after- 
noon. But  Reb  Monash,  entering  the  kitchen  from  the 
sitting-room  where  his  chayder,  his  Hebrew  school,  was 
installed,  speedily  convinced  him  that  the  morning's 
bitter  destiny  must  again  be  pursued. 

For  days  his  tiny  faculties  were  flattened  beneath  the 
weight  of  his  bewilderment.  When,  one  morning,  he 
went  with  the  others  into  the  playground  for  the 
interval,  he  crept  inconspicuously  on  the  skirts  of  the 
shrieking  masses  to  the  furthest  corner  in  the  wall, 
where  he  crouched,  huddled,  wondering  what  it  was  like 
to  be  grown  up.  When  a  lady  came  into  the  playground 
and  vigorously  rang  a  bell,  he  felt  that  no  bell  had  any 
meaning  to  him.  He  was  apart,  unwanted.  When  he  saw 
the  children  lining  up  in  their  classes  and  passing  into 
the  school  with  their  teachers  at  their  head,  he  turned 
towards  them  a  dull  abstracted  eye.  But  when  the 
appalling  quiet  of  the  playground  impressed  itself  upon 
him,  and  he  heard  the  choruses  droning  through  the 
windows,  "  Twice  One  are  Two, "he  realized  with  a 
sickening  pang  of  alarm  that  he  too  was  a  cog  in  that 
machine,  that  he  ought  to  have  been  minutes  and 
minutes  ago  on  the  inner  side  of  those  walls. 

His  face  was  hot  with  shame  as  he  dragged  his  feet 
through  the  door,  and  along  the  red  line  which  burned 
down  the  hall  like  a  trail  of  fire.  When  he  slunk  into 
his  place  like  a  cat  with  a  stolen  steak  into  a  cellar, 
he  found  the  eyes  of  Miss  Briggs  turned  towards  him  so 
round  with  stony  horror  that  he  feared  they  must  drop 
from  their  sockets.  Hyman  Marks  next  door  gazed 
virtuously  at  him  and  turned  away  with  a  sniff. 

Something  of  this  early  stupefaction  remained  with 
him,  even  though  he  had  passed  from  the  infants'  hall 


22  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

to  the  upstairs  department.  "  Pleaseteaclier  "  had  .long 
been  attenuated  into  "teacher,"  and  Miss  Green,  who  was 
the  genius  president  over  Standard  Two,  had  enter- 
tained for  him  more  than  a  teacherly  regard  ever  since 
Philip  had  raised  his  hand  in  the  middle  of  a  lesson  and 
inquired  from  her,  "  Please,  Miss  Green,  can  pupils 
marry  teachers  ?  "  They  frequently  maintained  long 
conversations  when  school  was  over,  until  Philip  suddenly 
would  bethink  himself  of  the  duties  his  racial  tongue 
demanded  and  which  awaited  him  in  chayder  under  the 
unremitting  vigilance  of  Reb  Monash  ;  whereon,  with 
a  troubled  "  Please,  good  afternoon,  teacher  !  '*  he 
would  scamper  off.  Miss  Green  liked  the  sonority  with 
which  he  delivered  the  recitations  she  taught  in  class. 
He  had  a  premature  sense  of  tragedy. 

On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low, 
All  darkly  lay  the  untrodden  snow — 

he  delivered  with  the  long  modulations  of  a  funeral 
dirge.  He  seemed  to  have  discovered  a  new  delight  in 
the  mere  utterance  of  rhythmic  lines.  "  On  Linden 
when  the  sun  was  low,"  he  chanted  on  his  way  home 
from  school,  bringing  his  right  foot  down  heavily  upon 
the  iambic  stresses  of  the  line.  There  was  a  Saturday 
morning  when  Reb  Monash  tested  his  knowledge  of  the 
Bible  portion  to  be  read  in  the  synagogue  that  day  with 
*'  Say  then,  Feivele,what  is  the  chapter  in  shool  to-day  ?  " 

Philip  was  abstracted.  His  mind  was  recreating  his 
latest  conversation  with  Miss  Green. 

"  On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low  !  "  he  replied. 
Reb  Monash  stared  at  him.  "  Proselytized  one  !  " 
he  exclaimed.  "  What  means  this  ?  "  He  led  PhiUp 
to  a  copy  of  the  Pentateuch  and  summarily  refreshed 
his  mind. 

They  were  great  friends,   Miss   Green  and  Philip, 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  28 

a  fact  which  did  not  leave  Philip's  behaviour  unin- 
fluenced. The  class  was  filing  through  the  open  door, 
(in  the  upstairs  department  the  classes  had  single 
rooms  instead  of  a  common  hall).  He  had  not  noticed 
that  an  unfamiliar  teacher  was  standing  at  the  door  in 
Miss  Green's  place,  and  just  before  entering  he  turned 
Tound  to  exchange  a  few  words  with  his  successor  in  the 
procession. 

"  You  bad  boy  !  "  exclaimed  the  voice  of  the  strange 
lady.  "  Do  not  sit  down  in  your  place  !  You  will 
stand  in  the  corner  till  I  ask  for  you  1  " 

Philip's  ears  were  rimmed  with  hot  shame.  The 
procession  ended.  "  Come  here !  "  said  the  lady. 
*'  Hold  your  hand  out !  Now  !  "  Five,  ten,  twenty 
times,  she  brought  a  ruler  down  on  his  knuckles.  It 
was  not  the  pain  which  mattered.  It  was  the  disgrace  ! 
He,  Miss  Green's  young  friend — or,  as  his  class-mates 
with  characteristic  envy  and  vulgarity  called  it,  her 
"  sucker-up  !  "  Acute  as  his  humihation  was,  he  kept 
strict  count  of  the  ruler's  descent  upon  his  knuckles. 
Twenty-four  !  Wouldn't  Miss  Green  have  something  to 
say  about  it ! 

When  the  class  filed  into  the  room  next  day.  Miss 
Green  was  looking  down  upon  Philip  with  so  affection- 
ate a  regard  that  the  shame  and  anger  pent  within  him 
since  yesterday  burst  their  bounds  and  he  broke  into 
tears. 

Horror  upon  horror  !  Miss  Green,  touched  to  the 
heart  by  these  sudden  tears,  bent  down  from  her 
Olympian  five-foot-four  and  kissed  him  loudly  on  the 
forehead  !  It  was  too  much  to  bear !  A  platonic  dis- 
play of  mutual  respect  was  an  excellent  arrangement. 
But  this  descent  into  the  murky  ether  of  physical  con- 
tact injured  his  sense  of  fitness.  The  sudden  drought 
of  his  tears,  the  bright  red  spot  in  the  centre  of  each 


24  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

cheek,  instructed  Miss  Green  that  she  had  erred. 
"  These  inscrutable  little  Jew-boys  !  "  she  mused,  and 
turned  to  Alfred  and  the  cakes. 

Next  day  she  asked  him  to  stay  a  moment  with  her 
after  school.  They  both  realized  the  impropriety  of  any 
reference  to  yesterday's  incident.  There  followed  a  little 
small  talk,  then — 

"  Tell  me,  Philip,"  she  said  quietly,  "  tell  me  which 
you'd  rather  be,  Jew  or  Christian  ?  " 

The  wheels  of  the  whole  world  for  one  instant  ceased 
their  revolutions.  Here  in  truth  was  the  end  of  an 
epoch  and  the  beginning  of  another.  Here  was  an 
issue  which  nothing  had  ever  before  presented  to  his 
mind,  and  an  issue  stated  so  simply.  "  Tell  me,  Philip, 
which  would  you  rather  be,  Jew  or  Christian  ?  "  He 
caught  his  breath  as  he  envisioned  the  state  of  affairs 
when  such  things  as  being  Jew  or  Christian  depended 
upon  one's  own  volition.  For  one  instant  cool  as  snow 
and  loud  with  the  volume  of  plunging  waters  a  something 
beyond  even  this  came  from  far  off  and  looked  mourn- 
fully and  intensely  into  his  eyes  :  he  beheld  a  state  of 
things  where  nothing  bound  him  with  chains,  where 
dispassionately  he  looked  at  Jew  and  Christian,  and 
walked  away,  onward,  up  the  slopes  of  a  hill,  where 
words  like  these  had  lost  all  meaning. 

He  staggered  on  the  locker  where  Miss  Green  had 
placed  him.  His  forehead  was  damp  with  a  slight  dew 
of  sweat.    The  blackboard  caught  his  eyes. 

26 

34 
104 
78_ 
884 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  ^5 

Yes,  yes,  that  was  more  intelligent.  He  scratched 
his  head  and  looked  down  at  his  feet.  Really  when  you 
come  to  think  of  it,  Christians  did  eat  repulsive  things. 
There  was  a  Christian  boy  in  the  playground  one  after- 
noon eating  a  brawn  sandwich — despicable  food, 
spotted  and  pale  pink  like  the  white  cat  at  home  after 
the  kettle  of  boiling  water  had  fallen  on  its  fur.  True  ! 
it  seemed  that  Christian  boys  occasionally  went  for  their 
holidays  and  saw  cows  and  trees  and  things — a  distinct 
feather  in  the  Christian  hat.  But  on  the  other  hand, 
Mr.  Barkle  was  a  Christian,  and  only  Christians  could 
kill  rabbits  like  Mr.  Barkle.  The  slaughtering  of  animals 
was  a  very  peculiar  and  limited  privilege  among  his 
own  folk — a  rite  performed,  as  Reb  Monash  had  made 
clear  to  the  chayder,  swiftly,  painlessly  and  profession- 
ally. Mr.  Barkle,  on  the  other  hand,  had  brought  a 
rabbit  into  Standard  Two  for  "  object  lesson "  and 
murdered  it,  slowly,  publicly.  Mr.  Barkle  himself  was 
not  unlike  a  rabbit.  He  was  very  fat  and  his  grey 
waistcoat  resembled  the  rabbit's  belly.  But  his  eyes 
sparkled  somewhat  unpleasantly — very  difEerent  from 
the  rabbit's  big,  brown  frightened  eyes.  And  Mr. 
Barkle  had  pressed  the  rabbit's  neck  between  his  hands, 
till  the  eyes  became  bigger  and  bigger,  and  the  legs 
moved  convulsively,  and  a  long  low  whistle  came  out 
mournfully  from  the  rabbit's  throat,  and  the  legs 
twitched  only  faintly  and  then  hung  quite  limp. 

After  Mr.  Barkle  had  cut  up  the  animal  to  describe 
its  parts,  a  little  Christian  boy  had  said  : 

**  Please,  Mister  Barkle,  can  I  take  the  rabbit  'ome  ? 
Farver  luvs  rabbits  !  " 

No  !  Philip  determined.  No !  he  would  never  be  a 
Christian ! 

Yet  Miss  Green  was  a  Christian.  It  would  be  impolite 
to  be  too  decided  about  it. 


26  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  Please,  Miss  Green,'*  he  said,  looking  up,  "  I'd 
rarver  stay  wot  I  was  born  !  " 

'*  There's  a  wise  boy  !  "  said  Miss  Green,  with  the 
faintest  touch  of  chagrin.  And  the  conversation  pursued 
less  transcendental  roads. 


CHAPTER  III 

AT  no  time  did  Philip  find  the  society  of  his  coevals 
.jLJL  congenial ;  the  society  at  least  of  the  young  males 
of  his  age  ;  which  was  an  element  in  his  composition 
not,  I  venture,  to  be  crudely  dismissed  as  one  form  or 
another  of  priggishness. 

Whatever  the  defects  were  of  Philip's  education,  and 
these  were  not  inconsiderable,  he  was  never  warned  to 
have  no  truck  with  Barney  of  next  door  because  his 
father  was  a  presser  and  rigidly  banished  collars  from  his 
wardrobe,  excepting  on  Yom  Kippur,  the  Day  of 
AtonemeAt,  on  which  occasion  a  waterproof  collar  did 
annual  service  with  much  dclat ;  nor  were  fogs  of 
dubiety  sedulously  created  around  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lavin- 
sky,  whose  premarital  relations  were,  it  was  rumoured, 
not  free  from  stain. 

Yet  inherently  Philip  held  himself  aloof  from  all  the 
"  lads  "  in  Angel  Street.  He  felt,  not  consciously  and 
certainly  not  in  defined  words,  that  everything  coarse 
and  cruel  in  the  architecture  of  Angel  Street  had  taken 
hold  of  their  spirit.  There  was  as  much  of  the  frankly 
and  repulsively  animal  in  them  as  in  the  sharp-ribbed 
cats  who  chattered  obscenely  on  the  walls.  He  felt  at 
times  when  he  saw  the  boys  slithering  along  the  roofs 
that  fragments  of  the  very  roofs,  steeped  in  grime  and 
dirty  rain  as  they  were,  had  detached  themselves  and 
become  animate. 

He  turned  with  relief  to  the  latest  "  poetry  "  he  had 
27 


28  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

been  taught ;  in  the  reverberant  recessions  of  rhythm 
the  boys  were  rolled  over  and  sucked  down  like  pebbles 
in  an  ebbing  tide.  The  fustian  of  "  Horatius  "  gave  him 
unmeasured  dehght,  and  soaked  in  the  yellow  flood  of 
Tiber  he  would  forget  the  malodorous  imminence  of 
Mitchen. 

But  in  the  girls  of  Angel  Street  he  satisfied  his  need 
for  human  companionship.  They  did  not  bandy  the 
filth  of  gesture  and  word  which  were  the  traffic  of  the 
boys  and  which  turned  him  sick,  made  him  faintly  but 
dismally  aware  of  yawning  abysses  of  uncleanness 
hidden  from  his  feet. 

So  he  would  sit  with  the  girls  at  their  doorsteps 
while  the  boys  shrieked  in  the  entries.  The  girls  were  a 
willing  audience  for  his  declamations  of  verse  ;  they 
accepted  Kaspar's  reiteration  of  "  But  it  was  a  famous 
victory  "  with  sympathy  and  evident  pleasure.  When 
they  realized  the  full  implications  of  the  question, 

Oht  is  it  weedy  or  fish,  or  floating  hair, 
A  tress  o'  golden  hair, 
0'  drowned  maiden's  hair  ? 

they  took  out  their  handkerchiefs  and  wept. 

Philip  was  sitting  among  the  girls  cutting  out  from 
the  advertisement  pages  of  magazines  pictures  of  ladies 
with  artificially  perfected  busts.  The  pictures  thus 
obtained  were  inserted  among  the  leaves  of  books  and 
the  custom  of  the  possessors  of  pins  was  solicited. 
Three  pricks  among  the  pages  of  the  books  were 
allowed,  with  whatsoever  bounty  fell  to  the  adven- 
ture. 

Philip  had  never  quite  decided  which  was  the  happier 
state — the  being  endowed  with  pictures  of  many  well- 
busted  ladies,  or  the  possession  of  many  pins.  The  latter 
at  least  held  the  prospect  of  a  service  he  might  render 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  29 

to  his  mother,  to  whom  a  stock  of  pins  should,  he  pre- 
sumed, be  an  inestimable  boon.  But  opulence  in  pins 
meant  a  dearth  in  busted  ladies — a  barren  state  of  afiairs 
only  to  be  remedied  by  a  fresh  outlay  of  capital. 

A  "  gang  "  came  by  whooping.  "  Gang  "  was  a 
popular  word  in  the  vocabulary  of  Angel  Street.  It  was 
sinister  with  warnings  of  Red  Indians  crawUng  on  their 
bellies  from  the  pampas  beyond  Doomington  Road. 
It  evoked  images  of  Red  Signs  found  on  the  necks  of 
the  murdered  daughters  of  miUionaires. 

"  Yah  !  look  at  Philip  Massel !  "  a  voice  jeered  from 
the  "  gang."  Philip  shivered.  He  disliked  the  "  gang," 
he  had  no  point  of  contact  with  it. 

"  Stick-to-my-muvver-an-don't-touch-me !  "  the  voice 
continued.  The  girls  were  silent,  for  chivalry  was 
not  a  predominant  trait  in  the  psychology  of  the 
"  gang."  Jessie  still  bore  a  black  eye  inflicted  by  Barney 
in  unequal  war.    It  was  Barney  took  up  the  cry  : 

''  Phihp  Massel,  Queen-of-the-Girls  !  " 

This  was  a  slogan  which  appealed  to  his  comrades. 
"  Phihp  Massel,  Queen-of-the-Girls  !  "  they  reiterated 
shrilly.  Phihp's  face  was  pale.  His  hand  trembled  as  he 
cut  the  pictures.  The  bust  of  the  next  lady  he  delimi- 
tated sadly  belied  the  merits  claimed  by  the  advertise- 
ment. 

"  Go — 00 !  'Go  kissed  Jessie  in  the  back  entry  ?  " 
Barney  howled. 

"  Philip  Massel,  Queen-of-the-Girls  !  "  the  rest  sang 
in  choric  delight.  Oh,  the  black  cavernous  lie  !  Was 
Jehovah  silent  ?  Phihp's  eyes  blazed.  He  flung  his 
scissors  down  with  a  crash.  The  further  side  of  Angel 
Street  rose  and  sank  as  he  rushed  towards  Barney. 
The  rules  of  the  ring  had  not  yet  been  studied  in  Angel 
Street.  Murderously  he  buffeted  his  fists  against 
Barney's  abdomen.    Barney  turned  green  and  subsided. 


80  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

The  rest  of  the  "  gang  "  jumped  upon  Philip  and  were  com- 
fortably pummelling  him  when  Reb  Monash  appeared 
on  the  scene.  Mrs.  Levine  had  lost  no  time  in  informing 
him  that  a  brawl  was  in  progress.  Reb  Monash  had  no 
doubt  it  involved  those  of  his  scholars  who  were  already 
scandalously  late  for  chayder. 

The  "  gang "  wilted  before  him.  At  his  feet  lay 
Philip,  gasping  and  bleeding. 

"  Feivele  at  the  bottom  of  it !  "  he  thundered. 
"  Oh,  a  credit  thou  art  to  thy  race !  An  eight-year  old, 
and  this  is  the  sum  of  thy  knowledge !  Come  then,  I 
will  instruct  thee  !  "  and  he  led  Philip  sternly  home  by  a 
famiHar  grasp  of  the  brachial  muscle  between  finger  and 
thumb.  Jessie  picked  up  the  scissors  ruminatively  and 
turned  the  pages  of  the  Strand  Magazine. 

The  idea  shortly  after  occurred  to  Philip  that  some 
compromise  with  his  sex  ought  to  be  possible.  It 
occurred  simultaneously  with  the  appearance  in  his 
library  of  a  new  type  of  American  hero.  He  was  now 
able  to  read  without  di£&culty  the  "  bloods  "  which 
described  with  impartial  gusto  sandbaggings  in  the 
Bowery  and  the  slaughter  of  travellers  conducted  by 
Poncho-clad  desperadoes  in  the  Argentine.  Lurid  as 
the  "  gang  "  was  in  behaviour,  their  literature  was  still 
extremely  tepid.  Intellectually,  they  had  not  outstepped 
Lady  Kathleen's  tender  limits  as  laid  down  in  her 
Books  for  the  Bairns,  whereas  Philip's  heart  had  for 
months  hovered  and  exulted  with  the  hearts  of  fully- 
fledged  errand  boys,  twelve  and  fourteen  years  old. 

But  a  new  hero  had  crossed  the  Atlantic.  He  was  in 
soul  much  more  turbulent  than  the  heroes  of  the  conser- 
vative school.  His  morals,  purely,  be  it  understood,  in 
order  to  achieve  a  virtuous  end,  were  even  more  elastic. 
The  terror  of  his  name  was  even  more  astounding.    But 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  31 

all  his  villainous  qualities  were  kept  strictly  below  the 
surface,  though,  of  course,  his  assistants  were  as  coarse- 
grained and  blasphemous  as  tradition  demanded.  His 
manners  were  so  exquisite  that  hotel-keepers  did  not 
presume  to  ask  for  the  payment  of  their  bills.  When 
he  slipped  from  his  chambers  to  undertake  a  midnight 
escapade,  he  would  insert  into  one  pocket  his  revolver, 
into  another  a  silver-mounted  bottle  of  hair-oil.  Whilst 
his  minions  were  grappling  with  the  objects  of  his  dis- 
pleasure and  bullet  shots  ripped  across  the  shack,  he 
would  lift  the  wick  of  the  lamp  in  order  to  manicure  his 
nails.  His  speech  was  so  full  of  gracious  evasions  that — 
that,  in  short,  he  completely  captured  Philip's 
heart. 

Here  was  a  mode  of  making  artistic  capital  out  of 
those  very  qualities  of  the  young  men  in  Angel  Street 
which  so  revolted  him,  whilst  at  the  same  time  he  would 
himself  accentuate  those  features  of  aloof  refinement 
for  which  they  had  dubbed  him  "  bouncer,"  a  word 
particularly  repugnant  to  him,  accentuate  them  actually 
amid  deference  and  applause. 

How,  then,  was  a  reversal  of  the  Angel  Street  relation- 
ships to  be  effected  ?  Philip  hardly  knew.  His  first 
discovery  was  the  gratifying  fact  that  on  a  certain 
non-physical  plane  the  "  gang  "  regarded  him  with  a 
measure  of  positive  awe.  Not  only  was  he  the  son  of  his 
father,  but  he  had  the  Kabbalistic  faculty  of  uttering 
rhymes,  a  faculty  which  influenced  them  precisely  as  a 
barbarian  village  might  be  influenced  by  a  medicine-man's 
incantations.  His  uprising  against  Barney  had  not 
been  barren  of  result,  though  the  fierce  splendour 
of  it  had  been  mitigated  somewhat  by  the  parental 
sequel. 

But  most  of  the  battle  was  won  when,  by  a  stroke  of 
fortune,  Philip,  for  whom  a  new  hat  was  long  overdue, 


82  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

was  supplied  with  a  sample  of  the  head-gear  associated 
with  captaincy  from  time  immemorial.  His  new  hat  was 
dowered  with  a  shiny  peak  and  a  ribbon  splendid  with 
the  legend  "  H.M.S.  Immaculate,"  and  when  pressed 
slantwise  over  PhiHp's  left  eye  gave  him  an  air  of 
authority  not  generally  associated  with  his  small  face. 
A  certain  calm  persuasive  eloquence,  assisted  by  a 
number  of  "  alleys,"  both  "  blood  "  and  "  conker," 
vastly  advanced  his  cause.  He  read,  finally,  certain  con- 
vincing passages  from  the  career  of  the  Dandy  Dave  by 
which  not  only  was  Philip  Massel's  claim  to  be  his 
European  representative  rendered  incontrovertible, 
but  it  was  proved  also  that  any  actual  immersion 
of  his  own  person  in  the  filth  of  afiairs  was  as  un- 
becoming to  Philip's  new  dignity  as  to  the  dignity  of 
Dandy  Dave. 

The  character  Philip  now  assumed  was  undoubtedly 
a  composite  affair.  Dandy  Dave  was  predominant, 
but  it  was  not  immune  from  the  vocabulary  and  be- 
haviour of  pirates,  explorers,  trappers  and  other  species 
of  emancipated  men.  The  trapper  element  did  not 
persist,  as  shall  be  rendered  credible. 

'*  Do  you  see  that  skunk  ?  "  Captain  Philip  exclaimed 
to  Lieutenant  Barney  one  day. 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir  !  "  repHed  Lieutenant  Barney,  "  Aye, 
aye,  sir  !  "  being,  in  fact,  Lieutenant  Barney's  only  and 
final  achievement  in  the  diction  of  romance. 

The  "  skunk  "  was  a  notorious  piebald  cat  even  at 
that  moment  sHnking  with  a  torso  of  fried  fish  along  the 
yard  wall  of  an  empty  house  where  the  "  gang  "  was 
foregathered. 

"  'E  must  be  captured  !  We  shall  sell  'is  'ide  to  the 
next  ship  wot  calls  at  yonder  port !  " 

An  exciting  chase,  which  extended  over  two  days, 
{ollpwed.    On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  the  corpse 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  33 

of  the  piebald  cat  was  laid  at  Captain  Philip's 
feet. 

"  Wot  now,  Captain  ?  "  said  Lieutenant  Barney, 
whose  wavering  loyalties  had  been  steadied  only  an 
hour  ago  by  the  gift  of  an  india-rubber  sucker.  Philip's 
heart  fluttered  a  little  unquietly.  In  the  mere  abstract 
conception  of  chase  there  had  been  much  of  the  poetical. 
In  the  presence  of  the  dead  cat  the  fogs  of  illusion 
thinned.  Shame  tugged  at  his  heart-strings.  But  the 
faultless  figure  of  Dandy  Dave  stood  before  him.  With 
little  knowledge  of  the  implication  of  his  words,  '*  Flay 
'im ! "  he  said  harshly.  "  The  merchants  call  this 
morn  !  " 

Lieutenant  Barney  inserted  a  broken  blade  below  the 
fringe  of  the  cat's  eye.  He  tugged.  Philip  looked 
down.  The  hideous  mess  which  ensued  spattered  Philip's 
brain  like  a  pat  of  filth.  He  ran  quickly  from  the  yard 
and  was  violently  sick  for  many  minutes.  .  .  .  The 
trapper  aspect  of  Captain  Philip's  authority  did  not 
again  assert  itself. 

Behind  the  Bridgeway  Elementary  School  extended 
a  huge  and  desolate  brick-croft.  Here  the  **gang" 
frequently  undertook  expeditions  to  the  Himalayas 
and  the  two  Poles.  Volcanoes  were  discovered  and  duly 
charted.  Wide  lakes  of  clayey  yellow  water  were 
navigated.  It  was  a  point  of  honour  with  the  "  gang  " 
that  the  lakes  must  be  definitely  crossed  from  border 
to  border,  not  merely  circumvented.  But  while  the 
**  gang "  miserably  splashed  along  and  drew  their 
clogged  boots  to  the  further  side.  Captain  Philip  serenely 
walked  the  whole  way  round  and  from  his  dry  vantage 
encouraged  his  men  to  safety.  It  would  never  do  for  the 
Doomington  counterpart  of  Dandy  Dave  to  smirch  his 
own  limbs  alongside  of  the  vulgar  herd. 

The  last  episode  in  the  captaincy  of  PhiUp  was  the 


84  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Liberation  of  Princess  Lena,  the  immediate  inspiration 
of  which  was  the  gallant  rescue  by  Dandy  Dave  of  the 
daughter  of  the  President  of  the  American  Republic 
from  a  cellar  below  the  very  basement  of  the  White 
House. 

Lena  Myer  lived  in  Angel  Street  and  kept  irregular 
hours.  The  days  of  her  flirtations  had  already  begun. 
When  she  returned  one  evening  it  was  arranged  that  the 
"  gang  "  was  to  seize  her,  gag  her,  and  carry  her  away 
to  the  stable  of  the  lemonade  works  adjacent  to  the  wire 
factory — whither  Lieutenant  Barney  had  discovered  a 
secret  entrance.  Here  for  the  space  of  an  hour  she  was 
to  be  bound  to  a  support.  The  clattering  of  horses  was 
to  be  heard  in  the  courtyard  and  Captain  Philip,  sweep- 
ing in  magnificently,  was  to  cut  her  bonds,  lay  her 
captors  in  the  dust  and  deliver  her  with  a  flourish  to  her 
distracted  parents. 

Of  course,  Lena  herself  was  not  to  be  informed  of  the 
somewhat  negative  part  reserved  for  her.  She  had 
already  attained  her  "  stuck-up "  days,  but  her 
beauty  and  her  father's  wealth,  (he  was  a  barber),  evi- 
dently cast  her  for  the  situation. 

All  fell  out  as  arranged.  As  she  entered  the  darkest 
patch  of  Angel  Street  a  black  mass  fell  on  her,  choked 
her  with  rags,  and  bore  her  kicking  furiously  to  the 
stable,  where  she  was  fastened  to  a  wooden  support. 
Many  desolate  minutes  passed,  during  which  her  moans 
struck  so  heavy  a  chill  into  the  hearts  of  the  desperadoes 
that  at  last  they  removed  the  rags  from  her  mouth. 
Immediately  such  a  foul  stream  of  imprecation  fell  from 
her  virginal  lips,  that  the  bloodthirsty  gang  withdrew 
trembling  towards  the  spider  -  webbed  walls.  She 
threatened  them  venomously  with  the  vengeance  of  her 
admirers.  Some  one  made  a  tentative  advance  in  her 
direction.    She  uttered  a  piercing  scream  and  he  recoiled 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  35 

with  knocking  knees.  The  "  gang  "  had  experienced 
fights  with  "  gangs  "  from  other  streets  ;  the  "  gang  " 
even  had  compassed  the  discomfiture  of  a  policeman. 
But  a  situation  like  this,  where  the  incalculable  feminine 
threw  all  their  generalizations  into  rout,  left  them  shorn 
of  philosophy. 

"  Jem  Cohen  '11  'ave  your  eyes  out,  yer  rotten  lot  'er 
lice  !  "    said  the  maiden  delicately. 

A  clatter  in  the  yard  beyond  the  stable,  cunningly 
caused  by  the  play  of  two  slates  on  the  cobbles,  pro- 
duced sudden  silence.  Captain  Philip  !  A  tremendous 
wave  of  dislike  for  Captain  Philip  swept  over  his  sup- 
porters !  Nobody  but  a  "  bouncer  "  like  that  Philip 
Massel  could  have  involved  them  in  so  unnatural  a 
situation.  By  crikey  !  They'd  show  him,  by  jeminy, 
wouldn't  they  just ! 

Philip  rushed  into  the  stable's  darkness. 

Rigid  with  hate,  Princess  Lena  lay  taut  against  her 
support.  With  a  fine  curve  Philip  drew  the  captainly 
knife.  The  braces-and-rope  fetters  fell  from  the  lady's 
limbs.  With  the  hiss  of  an  escaping  valve,  Lena  threw 
herself  upon  the  astounded  hero.  Two  great  scratches 
ripped  redly  down  Philip's  cheeks. 

*'  Take  that  an'  that  an'  that'  an  that !  "  she  howled 
as  she  thumped  him,  bit  him,  scratched  him,  tore  his 
hair.  Then  her  nerves  gave  way,  and  she  sank  to  the 
ground,  all  of  a  heap,  sobbing. 

Beyond  a  scowling,  laughing,  shaking  of  fists,  the 
"  gang  "  had  remained  passive  hitherto,  but  the  moment 
Lena  subsided,  with  convulsive  unanimity  they  fell  upon 
their  captain.  When  at  length  the  sated  gang  emerged 
from  the  stable,  there  was  no  superficial  point  of  resem- 
blance between  Dandy  Dave  and  the  quivering  youth 
moaning  lugubriously  in  the  darkness. 


36  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Philip  had  not  yet  found  a  key  to  the  Happy  Life, 
His  experiment  among  the  young  gentlemen  of  Angel 
Street  had  doubtless  been  foredoomed  to  failure.  He  was 
not  of  them.  He  had  been  a  "  bouncer  "  and  would, 
in  their  eyes,  remain  a  ''  bouncer  "  unto  the  world's  end. 
They  realized  cunningly  how  he  winced  when  they 
shouted  filthy  words  after  him.  Their  experience  with 
Lena  Myer  had  widened  their  vocabulary,  and  they 
filled  the  air  with  enthusiastic  impurity  as  he  passed  by. 
He  was  approaching  his  ninth  birthday,  but  still  the 
little  girls  of  Angel  Street  gave  him  his  one  illusion  of 
society. 

School,  too,  filled  him  with  leaden  ennui.  Miss  Green's 
class  was  only  a  memory  of  his  later  infancy.  Miss 
Tibbet,  his  present  teacher,  was  a  hopeless  automaton. 
She  wore  masculine  boots  and  impenetrable  tortoise- 
shell  spectacles.  When  she  opened  her  lips,  sound  issued ; 
when  she  closed  her  lips,  sound  did  not  issue.  Her 
personality  was  capable  of  no  further  differentiation. 
Nothing  happened.  A  waking  sleep  buzzed  in  her 
classroom  like  a  bluebottle. 

For  his  years  he  was  early  in  Miss  Tibbet's  class. 
There  was  something  about  him  which  much  endeared 
Philip  to  the  young  ladies  of  ten  and  eleven  who  sat  in 
the  same  benches.  The  emotion  at  first  was  one  of 
somewhat  elderly  amusement  and  compassion.  But 
when  Jane  Freedman  declared  herself  in  love  with  him, 
it  became  a  universal  discovery  that  PhiHp  lay  wedged 
between  the  split  sections  of  every  heart.  They  brought 
offerings  to  him — cigarette  cards,  jujubes  and  raw 
carrots,  (Philip  had  an  unholy  appetite  for  raw  carrots). 
One  day  Jane  Freedman  waylaid  him  with  a  large  lump 
of  pine-apple  rock. 

"  Kiss  me,  and  it  is  yours  !  "  she  said.  It  was  a  very 
large  and  inviting  piece  of  pine-apple  rock  ;  it  had  only 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  37 

been  slightly  sucked,  not  more  than  a  taste.  He  kissed 
her. 

The  other  girls  promptly  waylaid  him  with  larger 
pieces  of  pine-apple  rock.  The  whole  thing  really  was 
very  unpleasant.  On  the  other  hand  pine-apple  rock 
had  its  compensation.  Yet  Philip  developed  a  great 
distaste  for  humanity.  Boys,  at  one  extreme,  were  more 
unclean  than  cats,  (cats  being  the  predominant  fauna 
of  Angel  Street,  they  were  a  useful  starting  point  for  all 
philosophy).  Girls,  at  the  other,  were  more  sentimental 
than  fish.  Pine-apple  rock  began  speedily  to  pall  upon 
him. 

'  School  was  wearing  beyond  words.  Not  a  chance 
gleam  of  gold  filtered  through  the  pall  of  cloud.  Miss 
Tibbet's  mouth  opened  ;  then  it  closed.  It  would  have 
been  an  incident,  even  if  you  could  have  seen  her  eyehds 
blink  beyond  her  spectacles.  She  taught  poetry  as 
she  taught  vulgar  fractions.  A  mad  impulse  began  to 
seize  upon  Philip.  He  must  separate  his  own  lips 
further,  wider,  more  hilariously  than  ever  Miss  Tibbet 
was  capable.  Then  to  dehver  himself  of  one  prolonged 
shout — no  more.  One  prolonged  shout  which  would 
cleave  a  path  through  the  clouds  of  monotony  where- 
through the  dizzy  horses  of  adventure  might  come 
tumbling  from  the  spacious  blue  winds  beyond.  Not  a 
shout  of  pain  or  of  desperation.  A  shout  merely  from 
the  whole  capacity  of  his  lungs,  a  human  shout,  a 
challenge  of  the  body  in  ennui. 

His  lips  opened  trembling.  Miss  Tibbet's  spectacles 
swept  blankly  towards  his  face.  He  bent  down  over  his 
paper.  The  impulse  waxed  within  him  and  became  a 
passion.  He  began  to  say  to  himself  that  the  whole 
future  of  his  Hfe  depended  upon  his  courage.  If  he  did 
not  open  his  lips  and  yell  he  would  be  one  thing.  If  he 
did  open  his  lips  and  yell,  he  would  be  another  thing,  and 


88  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

a  bigger,  freer  thing.  One  day  he  stretched  his  jaws  to 
make  the  effort.  The  back  of  his  mouth  was  crammed 
with  sand.    He  lifted  his  hand  as  if  to  hide  a  yawn. 

A  mystic  conviction  took  possession  of  him.  If  he  had 
any  value,  that  shout  would  be  achieved.  But  its  agent 
would  be  something  greater  than  himself.  Prepared  or 
unprepared  for  it,  the  shout  would  come,  if  he  was 
worthy. 

It  was  a  very  hot  afternoon.  Miss  Tibbet  croaked  at 
the  blackboard  like  a  machine.  A  desultory  dog  was 
barking  somewhere  with  insensate  yelps.  The  geranium 
before  the  closed  windows  drooped  in  the  heat.  Flies 
were  droning  aimlessly. 

A  huge  shout  swept  suddenly  into  every  corner  of  the 
room,  slapped  Miss  Tibbet's  face  like  the  palm  of  a 
hand.  There  was  an  intense  silence.  All  eyes  turned  to 
PhiUp's  face,  which  was  flushed  furiously  red,  unhappy, 
exultant. 

"  Philip  Massel,  stand  up !  "  He  shuffled  to  his 
feet. 

"  Was  it  you  who  made  that  noise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Tibbet !  " 

"  Why  did  you  make  that  noise  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  !  " 

"  Did  somebody  stick  a  pin  into  you  ?  " 

"  No  !  " 

"  Did  anybody  stick  a  pin  into  Philip  Massel  ?  " 

No  reply. 

Here  was  something  entirely  beyond  Miss  Tibbet's 
experience. 

"  Will  the  monitors  keep  order,  please,  while  I  take 
this  boy  to  the  head  master  !  " 

Philip  knew  that  sooner  or  later  he  would  burst  into 
tears.  But  a  great  load  was  off  his  mind.  He  was  free, 
he  was  free  !    For  one  moment  of  dizzy  elation  a  pang  of 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  89 

that  emotion  struck  him  which  long  ago  made  him 
tremble  on  a  locker  in  Miss  Green's  room  before  the  fate- 
ful question — "  Tell  me,  Philip,  which  would  you  rather 
be,  Jew  or  Christian  ?  "  The  sheer  poignancy  passed, 
but  something  of  his  elation  remained,  even  in  the 
cadaverous  sanctum  of  the  head  master. 

Mr.  Tomlinson  sat  ominous  in  his  chair  as  he  listened 
to  Miss  Tibbet's  recital. 

"  Why  did  you  behave  in  that  disgraceful  way, 
Philip  Massel  ?  " 

"  I— I— don't  know,  sir  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  don't  know  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  !  " 

"  Are  you  sure  it  wasn't  a  pin  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir  !  " 

"  Are  you  in  pain  ?  " 

"  No,  sir  1  " 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  ..."  But  PhiUp's 
shoulders  were  shaking.  Big  tears  rolled  down  his  face. 
He  hid  his  face  in  a  dirty,  frayed  handkerchief.  He 
heard  Mr.  TomUnson  and  Miss  Tibbet  whispering 
overhead. 

"  The  heat  ..."  said  one. 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  ...  the  heat.  .  .  ." 

"  You  may  go  home,  Philip  Massel !  "  said  Mr. 
Tomlinson.  "  Tell  your  mother  to  put  you  to  bed  at 
once.  Say  I  told  her  she  must  keep  you  quiet.  Don't 
come  to  school  to-morrow  if  your  head  is  aching.  .  .  . 
And  never  let  it  happen  again,  young  man  !  Understand 
that !  " 

Philip  withdrew.  A  grin  mingled  maliciously  with 
his  tears. 

A  day  or  two  later  he  was  standing  contemplatively 
against  the  playground  wall  during  the  interval,  when 


40  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

he  observed  Harry  Sewelson  approaching.  Sewelson, 
though  he  was  about  a  year  older,  was  in  Philip's  class. 
He  lived  in  a  draper's  shop  some  minutes  along  Doom- 
ington  Road.  They  had  had  no  commerce  hitherto. 
Philip  made  a  new  friend  with  extreme  difficulty,  and 
though  he  realized  that  there  was  a  quality  in  Sewelson, 
a  keenness  in  his  grey  eyes,  which  distinguished  him  from 
the  rest,  there  was  a  garlic  vulgarity  about  him,  a 
strongly-flavoured  bluster,  which,  he  had  learned  from 
Reb  Monash,  was  inseparable  from  Roumanian 
Jewry. 

"  I  say  !  "  declared  Sewelson,  "  I  bet  you  I  know 
what  was  the  matter  on  Tuesday  !  I  bet  I  know  why 
you  gave  that  shout !  " 

"  Bet  you  don't !  "  Philip  replied.  He  was  vaguely 
proud  of  the  complex  of  motives  which  had  induced  him 
to  behave  in  so  baffling  a  manner. 

"  Nobody  pricked  you  !  "  Sewelson  asserted. 

"  Right  for  once  !  "  Philip  agreed. 

"  And  you  weren't  ill !    I  bet  I  know  !  " 

Philip  looked  up  curiously. 

"  You  just  wanted  to  I ''  Sewelson  whispered  in  a 
somewhat  melodramatic  manner,  "  You  felt  you  just 
had  to.  You  couldn't  get  away.  You  were  sick  and 
tired !  " 

Philip's  brown  eyes  looked  up  shyly,  with  a  certain 
pleasure,  with  a  certain  distrust,  into  the  grey  eyes 
before  him. 

"You're  right!"  said  Philip.  "It  wasn't  my 
fault !  " 

"  I  say,"  Sewelson  said,  after  a  pause.  "  I  say  .  .  .'* 
Then  he  paused  again. 

"Yes?"   asked  Philip. 

"  I  say,  what  about  being  pals  ?  '* 

Philip  blushed  slightly.    "  Let's  !  "  he  said. 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  41 

They  walked  down  tlie  playground  with  linked  arms. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  accepted  Philip  innocently-  "  I  c^o  think 
Miss  Tibbet  is  a  narky  bitch  !  " 

"  Carried  nem-con  I  "  exclaimed  Sewelson,  proud  of 
his  elegant  introduction  of  a  foreign  tongue. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  vicissitudes  of  school  and  Angel  Street  re- 
presented only  the  secular  side  of  Philip's  exist- 
ence. The  Jewish,  the  clerical  side,  claimed  his  servi- 
tude as  soon  as  he  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  house. 
The  whole  day,  of  course,  was  punctuated  with  greater 
or  lesser  ceremonies ;  but  a  considerable  portion  of  it, 
at  least  of  that  part  not  taken  up  by  school,  was  spent  in 
his  father's  chayder.  Beyond  chayder,  to  gather  together 
and  confirm  the  sainthness  ardently  desired  and  pursued 
for  him  by  his  father,  lay  the  synagogue  in  Doomington 
Road,  the  Polisher  Shool. 

The  room  in  which  the  chayder  was  housed  was  dis- 
tinctly dismal,  despite  the  fountain  of  spiritual  light 
playing  perpetually  there,  the  fountain  whereof  Reb 
Monash  himself  was  the  head.  It  lay  between  the 
"  parlour,"  a  chilly  room  upholstered  in  yellow  plush, 
which  was  on  the  right  as  you  passed  into  the  "  lobby," 
and  the  kitchen  in  the  recesses  of  the  house,  to  enter 
which  you  descended  two  invisible  steps.  Beyond  the 
window  of  the  chayder  and  beyond  the  yard,  hung  a 
grim,  blank-windowed  hat-and-cap  factory. 

Low  forms,  where  the  two  dozen  scholars  were  dis- 
posed, ran  round  the  four  walls  of  the  room.  Before  a 
table  facing  the  window  Reb  Monash  sat,  in  the  additional 
shadow  cast  by  the  large  oblong  of  cardboard  which 
occupied  a  fourth  of  the  window-space  so  as  to  hide  the 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  43 

damage  caused  by  a  malicious  Gentile  stone.  More  for 
minatory  gesture  than  for  punishment,  a  bone-handled 
walking-stick  lay  to  his  hand,  along  the  table.  Facing 
the  door  a  large  cupboard  stood  invariably  open.  Here 
on  the  lowest  shelf  were  the  Prayer  Books,  from  the 
first  page  of  which  the  youngest  scholars  learned  their 
Hebrew  capitals.  Here  also  were  the  penny  exercise 
books  where  the  scholars  proficient  in  the  cursive  script 
wrote  letters  of  a  totally  imaginary  politeness  to  their 
parents.  "  My  dear  and  most  esteemed  Father  and 
Mother,"  they  ran, "  I  am  full  of  concern  for  your  health. 
Reb  Monash  joins  me  in  respectful  greeting.  The  High 
Festivals  are  approaching,  God  be  thanked,  and  I 
trust  the  Above  One  will  bless  our  ways  with  milk  and 
honey  and  will  much  increase  our  progeny,  even  as  the 
sands  on  the  shore.  Believe  I  am  your  to-death-de- 
voted son." 

Upon  one  wall  hung  a  chart  where  an  adventurous 
red  line  traced  the  forty  years'  wandering  of  the  Jewish 
race  between  the  House  of  Bondage  and  the  Promised 
Land.  A  portrait  of  Dr.  Theodor  Herzl,  every  feature 
cleverly  pricked  out  in  Hebrew  letters,  hung  opposite. 
There  were  enlargements  from  photographs  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Massel,  and  portraits  of  Heine  and  Disraeli,  which 
had  been  hung  not  without  compunction,  although 
each  had  made  so  generous  a  death-bed  recantation  of 
his  errors. 

The  payment  to  Reb  Monash  for  a  week's  tuition 
ranged  between  one  shilling  and  eighteenpence.  He 
sometimes  accepted  ninepence,  but  on  the  condition  that 
other  parents  should  not  be  informed  and  the  market 
be  thus  demoralized.  He  even  accepted  no  payment  at 
all,  in  cases  of  extreme  indigence,  where  it  meant  that  a 
sciony of  I^Israell^wouldT  "otherwise  run  riot  in  pagan 
ignorance.     The  attendances   of  his   pupils  were  as 


44  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

follows  : — In  the  week-days,  a  few  frantic  minutes 
between  morning  and  afternoon  school  for  the  recital  of 
minchah,  the  midday  prayer,  and  more  importantly, 
several  long  hours  in  the  evening ;  on  the  Saturday, 
once,  after  dinner. 

During  the  evening  session,  while  the  maturer  boys 
were  biting  their  pens  over  their  letters  home,  and  the 
boys  less  mature  were  transcribing  for  page  after  page  a 
sample  line  in  Reb  Monash's  own  script,  rehhie  himself 
dealt  with  the  infants,  five,  four,  three  years  old.  Pa- 
tiently, gently,  the  meat  skewer  he  used  as  a  pointer 
moved  from  capital  to  capital.  (A  safe  way  to  win 
temporary  harbourage  in  rehbie's  good  graces  was  to 
provide  him  with  a  new  pointer.) 

"  Aleph  !  "  said  Reb  Monash.  "  Aleph  I  "  piped  the 
little  voice. 

"  Baze !  "  ''  Baze !  "  "  Gimmel,  doled  !  "  "  Gimmel, 
doled ! " 

With  the  young  he  had  enormous  patience.  When 
at  last  they  knew  all  the  letters  in  their  consecutive 
order,  his  pointer  would  dart  bewilderingly  from  letter 
to  letter. 

"  Lange  mem,  tsadik,  coff.  .  .  .'* 

Ignorance,  up  to  a  certain  age,  Reb  Monash  could 
condone.  It  was  inattention  against  which  he^main- 
tained  a  fiery  crusade. 

"  What,  thou  canst  not  distinguish  between  haze  and 
shloss  mem  ?  Playest  thou  then  alleys  already  ?  Thou 
art  a  lump-Gentile,  a  shtik-goy  !  "  After  the  youngsters 
had  been  thus  instructed,  a  snap  of  his  Prayer  Book  was 
the  signal  for  a  deathly  calm.  All  the  exercise  books 
were  closed  and  put  away  upon  their  shelf.  Everybody 
sat  down  upon  the  benches  round  the  wall  and  each 
face  assumed  a  look  of  virtue  bordering  upon  imbecility . 
Reb  Monash  then  produced  a  thin  notebook  where  in 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  45 

three  columns  down  each  page  he  had  written  a  large 
number  of  Hebrew  words.  These  words  had,  excepting 
rarely,  no  connection  with  each  other.  One  leaped 
abruptly  from  "  pepper  "  to  "  son-in-law  "  and  thence 
to  "  chair,"  "  snake,"  "  pomegranate  "  and  "  yester- 
day." 

Starting  with  any  boy  indiscriminately  he  read  out 
word  after  word,receiving  an  English  or  Yiddish  equiva- 
lent. Here  again,  to  introduce  a  complexity,  he  sud- 
denly interrupted  the  written  order  of  the  words,  or, 
indeed,  himself  gave  the  profane  equivalent  of  the 
vocabulary  and  demanded  the  "  Holy  Speech "  in 
return.  With  as  little  warning  he  transferred  his  atten- 
tion to  another  of  his  scholars,  and  woe  upon  him  if  the 
black  crime  of  inattention  had  sent  his  wits  scattering, 
woe  if  his  lips  could  not  repeat  the  word  just  translated  ! 
A  silence  intense  as  the  silence  of  the  antechamber 
where  the  High  Priest  three  times  demands  from 
Radames  his  defence,  occupied  the  breathless  chayder 
during  the  process  of  "  Hebrew." 

Yet  for  all  his  saUies  and  alarms  the  tragedy  of  Reb 
Monash  was  no  more  apparent  than  in  the  heart-broken 
monotone  in  which  he  uttered  his  list  of  inconsequent 
words.  All  the  ghettoes  of  Russia  had  known  the  silver 
of  his  voice.  If  there  had  been  sorrows  of  Israel  none 
had  told  them  more  poignantly ;  if  Zion  still  were  to  raise 
tall  towers,  none  so  joyfully  had  prophesied  her  new 
splendours.  Still  in  many  synagogues  beyond  the 
Polisher  Shool  his  oratory  was  in  demand.  But  the  glow 
of  his  old  dreams  ?  Was  it  because  no  single  reahty  had 
called  him  to  concrete  endeavours,  that  no  single  dream 
had  found  fulfilment  ? 

But  all  this  lay  deep  down,  deeper  than  himself  dared 
to  pursue. 

"Pilpelimr'    "  Pepper  1" 


46  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  Lo  mit  a  vov  ?  "    "  To  liim  !  " 

*'  Philip,  where  holds  one  ?  " 

"...  er  ...  er  .  .  ." 

"  What !  thou  knowest  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  tatte,  yes  .  .  .  odom,  a  man  !  " 

Reb  Monash's  lips  set  tight.  Philip's  back  curved 
under  his  father's  fist.  He  pressed  his  head  down  upon 
his  neck.  He  knew  that  the  nearer  he  attained  to 
immobility,  the  sooner  would  his  punishment  be 
over. 

Reb  Monash  sat  down  again. 

"  Roshoh  ?  "  he  asked  significantly. 

**  Evil  one  !  " 

"  Boruch  V  to  point  the  contrast. 

"  Blessed  !  "  the  voice  translated. 

And  so  till  "  Hebrew  "  was  at  an  end.  Then  followed 
translation  from  the  week's  portion  of  the  Penta- 
teuch ;  and  perhaps  if  one  or  two  scholars  of  such 
holy  state  remained  under  his  care,  an  excursion  into 
the  Talmud. 

The  combination  of  Miss  Tibbet  and  chayder  left 
Philip  limp  with  fatigue  and  dejection.  Life  under  Miss 
Tibbet  was  clockwork,  barren  of  adventure  and  hope. 
Chayder  was  a  cycle  that  each  year  returned  to  the  same 
spot  through  a  round  of  indignities  and  petty  t3rrannies. 
All  its  nightly  incidents  were  the  same  as  last  week's  and 
last  year's  and  seemed  destined  to  reduphcation  world 
without  end.  Walls  seemed  to  rise  frowning  before  him 
wherever  he  looked.  It  was  hard  to  breathe.  Were 
these  days  the  pattern  of  all  the  days  he  should  ever 
know,  till  he  died  at  last  and  half-hearted  funeral 
eulogies  were  uttered  over  his  co£&n  ? 

Yet  now  and  again  there  were  incidents  which  sHghtly 
relieved  the  tedium  of  existence.    As  for  instance  when 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  47 

the  notorious  Jakey  arrived  in  chayder  about  an  hour 
late  one  stifling  summer  evening.  Jakey  was  in  truth  a 
desperate  character.  His  stockings  lay  invariably  over 
his  boots,  and  the  boots  themselves  knew  no  other 
fastening  than  string.  Among  the  layers  of  dirt  on  his 
face  his  right  eye  or  his  left  emerged  livid  in  purple  and 
salmon  hues.  On  numerous  occasions  he  had  "  wagged  " 
school  in  order  to  play  pitch  and  toss  with  coins,  derived 
who  knew  whence  ?  in  the  company  of  stalwarts  fifteen 
years  old,  three  years  his  senior. 

It  was  in  fact  during  the  solemn  stillness  of  "  Hebrew  " 
that  he  arrived.  Upon  his  appearance  the  hush  was 
intensified  into  something  acute  as  shrill  sound  or  pain. 
Slowly,  with  tight-browed  condemnation,  Reb  Monash 
turned  his  head  to  the  truant.  "  So  thou  art  come  !  " 
he  said.  "  Enter  !  we  are  incomplete  without  thee  !  " 
With  withering  courtesy  he  motioned  him  to  the  end  of 
a  bench.  Nonchalantly  moving  the  tip  of  his  tongue 
from  one  cheek  to  the  other  Jakey  sat  down. 

"  NUf  Jakele,  what  hast  thou  for  thyself  to  say  ?  "  he 
asked,  still  couchant,  as  it  were,  upon  his  chair.  Jakey 
for  several  seconds  longer  kept  his  tongue  in  his  left 
cheek.    He  lifted  his  brows  in  interested  contemplation. 

"  I  had  the  stomach-ache  !  "  he  suggested,  clasping 
his  hands  against  his  liver  as  a  piece  of  convincing  by- 
play. 

"  Ligner !  "  thundered  Reb  Monash, "  Thou  art  sound 
as  a  Hottentot !  " 

Jakey  withdrew  one  hand  from  his  stomach,  and 
lifted  a  thumb  to  his  mouth. 

"  My  muvver's  dying  !  "  he  said  after  further  medita- 
tion. 

Reb  Monash  quivered  with  wrath. 

"  Such  a  year  upon  thee  !  Long  live  they  mother,  but 
thou,  thou  art  a  proselytized  one  !  " 


48  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

He  advanced  to  make  Jakey  more  immediately  aware 
of  the  jeopardy  into  which  his  soul  had  fallen.  Jakey 
looked  up  shiftily,  his  eyes  watchful.  Reb  Monash's 
fist  came  down  upon  empty  air.  Swift  as  a  lizard  Jakey 
darted  across  to  the  table.  He  stood  there,  Reb  Monash's 
bone-handled  stick  uplifted.  A  murmur  of  horror  went 
round  the  chayder.  Reb  Monash  with  a  shout  of  anger 
advanced  raging.  And  then  it  was  that  his  own  stick, 
the  symbol  of  more  absolute  authority  than  the  Shah's, 
was  brought  down  upon  his  own  shoulder.  There  was  a 
silence.  Then  immediately  a  tremendous  hubbub 
filled  the  room.  Reb  Monash  sank  into  his  chair.  A  few 
of  the  youngest  lads  lifted  up  their  voices  and  wept. 
A  boy  in  a  corner  was  giggling  nervously. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  Where  is  he  ?  "  asked  Reb  Monash 
weakly.  An  enormity  had  been  perpetrated  unknown 
in  the  annals  of  chayders.  And  in  his.  Reb  Monash's, 
where  discipHne  and  hoUness  were  equal  stars. 

"  'E's  ran  away  !    I  seen  'im  !  "  the  cry  rose. 

Reb  Monash  grimly  took  up  once  more  his  book  of 
Hebrew  words.    The  long  monotone  began  again. 

"  Ishoh  ?  "    "  A  woman  !  " 

"Sachin?''   "A  knife!" 

The  door  was  flung  open.  A  storm  of  flying  apron- 
strings  filled  the  threshold,  and  a  cloud  of  loose  hair. 
It  was  the  mother  of  Jakey. 

"  Reb  Monash,  what  is  for  such  a  thing  ?  "  she 
demanded  indignantly.  "  One  might  think  a  pohceman, 
not  a  rebhie.  My  poor  Jakele,  gentle  as  a  dove,  a  credit 
in  Israel !    What  for  a  new  thing  is  this  ?  " 

Reb  Monash  Hfted  his  hands  deprecatingly.  "  What 
say  you,  Mrs.  Gerber  ?    An  hour  later  he  comes.  ..." 

She  gave  him  no  time  to  continue.  "  And  then  to 
lay  about  him  with  a  walking-stick !  A  Tartar,  not  a 
Jew  !     Never  a  word  of  complaint  from  God  or  man 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  49 

about  my  poor  orphan  and  .  .  .  to  come  to  chayder  .  .  . 
and  a  pogrom !  Oi,  a  shkandal !  A  walking-stick  like 
a  tree  !  A  moujik,  God  should  so  help  me,  not  a  rehhie  ! 
Poor  Jakele,  crying  his  heart  out  like  a  dove  !  I'll  take 
him  away  from  a  so  crooked  chayder  !  " 

*'  But  that  concerns  me  little  !  "  broke  in  Reb  Monash. 
'For  each  one  that  goes,  come  four  each  time!" 
(This  confident  mathematic  invariably  puzzled  Philip. 
He  knew  how  necessary  to  the  Massel  family  was  an 
increased  income.  Why  should  not  Reb  Monash  dis- 
miss his  whole  chayder  and  then  automatically  increase 
his  clientele  fourfold  1) 

"  Like  a  tree  a  walking-stick !  "  continued  Mrs. 
Gerber.  She  flounced  through  the  door.  "  Such  a 
year  I  Such  a  black  year  shall  seize  you  !  "  she  spat. 
The  door  closed  with  a  loud  bang.  It  was  impossible  to 
sit  down  under  it.  Not  only  to  have  been  assaulted,  but 
to  be  accused  of  being  the  assailant  was  too  much  to 
bear.  Reb  Monash  took  his  skull-cap,  his  yamelke, 
from  his  head,  placed  it  on  the  mantelshelf,  and  assumed 
his  silk  hat. 

"  Learn  over  your  passages  !  "  he  rapped  out  as  he 
followed  furiously  to  the  house  of  Jakey. 

There  was  subdued  whispering  at  first. 

"  Wot  a  lark  !  "  said  some  one.  "  Oo — aye  !  Wot 
a  lark  !  "  some  one  else  repeated.  Then  every  one 
laughed.  PhiUp  was  hilarious.  It  really  was  too  funny 
— Jakey  the  dove  ! 

"  I've  got  the  stomach-ache,  rehhie  !  " 

"  No  you've  not,  you  mean  your  mu war's 
dying!" 

Some  one  lifted  the  wall^ing-stick.  Barney  did  a  jkis 
seul  in  the  corner.  The  gaiety  of  the  situation  intoxi- 
cated everybody.  PhiUp  was  swept  off  his  feet  by  the 
general  merriment.     He  reached  up  for  his  father's 


50  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

skull-cap,  put  it  on  and  looked  round  solemnly.    Barney 
imitated  Mrs.  Gerber  with  great  distinction. 

"  A  moujik,  not  a  rebhie  !  " 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened.  Reb  Monash's 
face  looked  round  glowering  below  his  silk  hat.  Quick 
as  thought  Philip  covered  the  borrowed  skull-cap, 
knowing  there  was  no  time  to  replace  it,  with  his  own 
cap.  He  felt  the  unfortunate  load  pressing  guiltily 
against  his  head. 

Reb  Monash  took  ofi  the  silk  hat  and  looked  round 
for  the  yamelke. 

"  Where's  my  yamelke  V  he  demanded  fiercely. 
^"  Dunno  !  "  a  murmur  rose. 

"  Did  I  not  place  it  on  the  mantelshelf  ?  " 

"  Didn'  see  yer  !  " 

"  Dost  thou  know  %  " 

"No,re66^e./" 

"  Dost  thou,  Philip  ?  " 

"No,to^^e.'" 

"  Dost  thou,  Barney  %  " 

"No,re&6^e/" 

"  Empty  ye  out  all  your  pockets  !  " 

The  yamelke  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  It  was  a  very 
hot  evening  and  it  produced  on  Phihp  an  unholy  dehght 
to  see  his  father  sitting  there  in  the  close  heat,  with 
bright  red  carpet  slippers,  thin  black  trousers,  a  thin 
alpaca  coat — and  to  crown  all,  the  stately  and  stufiy 
tall  hat,  malevolent  and  quite  definitely  absurd. 

It  was  towards  the  end  of  the  evening  that  Philip 
lifted  his  cap  to  scratch  his  head  over  some  knotty 
point  in  the  chumish,  the  Pentateuch,  they  were  trans- 
lating. He  had  wholly  forgotten  the  abstracted  yamelke, 
so,  whilst  his  own  cap  fell  with  a  soft  slur  on  the  table 
before  him,  the  yamelke  sat  revealed  like  a  toad  under  a 
lifted  stone. 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  51 

Reb  Monash  looked  up.  It  was  too  late  to  hide  the 
yamelke.  Reb  Monash' s  eyes  glinted  unpleasantly. 
Chayder  drew  to  an  immediate  end. 

The  drizzle  falling  beyond  the  chayder  window  next 
day  was  like  a  curtain  of  liquid  soot.  The  interview 
between  Reb  Monash  and  Philip  on  the  conclusion  of  last 
evening's  episode  had  made  them  both,  for  different, 
for  opposite,  reasons,  very  tired.  PhiHp,  though  the 
hard  form  where  he  sat  left  him  at  no  time  unconscious 
of  his  wounds,  was  only  a  little  more  listless  than  his 
father.  His  mind  was  too  numbed  even  to  appreciate 
the  exquisite  irony  of  his  letter  to  his  "  esteemed  and 
beloved  parents."  When  the  ritual  of  "  Hebrew " 
recommenced,  it  was  only  with  an  effort  that  he  sus- 
pended the  mechanical  scrawling  of  his  pen.  The  dirge 
of  question  and  reply  proceeded  mournfully,  broken 
only  by  the  occasional  "  where  holds  one  ?  "  like  the 
surface  of  a  pond  on  a  dull  day  when  the  fish  seem  to  rise 
rather  to  assert  their  rights  than  to  satisfy  their  hunger. 
Oh,  to  get  away  from  it  all,  mused  Philip  dimly.  To 
where  there  are  trees  and  grass  like  Longton  Park,  but 
freer,  larger.  To  go  there  alone  and  to  come  back  to 
mother,  perhaps  with  an  offering  of  cowslips,  whatever 
they  were.  There  would  be  a  bird  there  who  would 
sing.  Not  like  a  canary.  He  couldn't  bear  the  singing 
of  canaries.  They  reminded  him  of  a  pale  girl  whom  he 
saw  sometimes  at  a  window  of  the  hat-and-cap  factory. 
She  sang  sometimes,  like  a  canary,  ever  so  sweetly,  but 
a  captive.  He  had  once  seen  a  canary  cage  hanging 
on  an  outside  wall.  A  great  rain-storm  had  burst, 
but  the  people  on  the  doorstep  had  gone  in,  for- 
getting all  about  the  bird.  He  had  knocked  at  their 
door  and  told  them,  and  though  the  man  had  sworn 
at  him,  he  took  the  bird  in,  a  sickly  sodden  mass, 


52  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

greyish-yellow.  That  bird  had  not  sung  again.  It 
uttered  only  a  little  broken  cheep  each  morning  when 
the  sun  came.  Now  out  there  .  .  .  Oh,  what  was  all 
this  useless  droning,  droning  about  ..."  Pilpelim  ?  " 
"  Pepper  !  "  .  .  .  out  there,  when  the  rain  came,  there 
would  be  thick  branches  to  shelter  that  singing  bird. 
He  would  walk  alone,  clean,  free.  "  Alone  I  walked,  I 
walked  alone."  There  was  music  in  that !  "  Alone  I 
walked,  I  walked  alone."  Yes  of  course  !  the  sense  was 
quite  different,  but  there  was  something  about  it 
identical  with  his  "  On  Linden  when  the  sun  was  low." 
"  Alone  I  walked,  I  walked  alone,"  he  stressed.  "  1 
sdt  upon  a  mossy  stone,"  he  followed  swiftly.  What 
fun  !  That  was  like  real  poetry.  He  repeated  the  words, 
trembling  with  delight. 

Alone  I  walked,  I  walked  alone, 
I  sat  upon  a  mossy  stone. 

What  about  that  bird  ?  We  must  introduce  that  bird ! 
"  I  heard  a  bird  singing  up  in  the  sky."  No,  that  wouldn't 
do  !  Something  was  wrong  !  Gosh  !  it  was  very  easy  1 
Just  leave  out  that  "  singing,"  thus  :  "I  heard  a  bird 
up  in  the  sky."  But  we  can't  end  there  !  "  I  heard  a 
bird  up  in  the  sky,"  and  .  .  .  and  ..."  He  sang  so 
sweet  and  so  did  II"  His  thighs  trembled.  His  heart 
stormed.  He  had  beaten  down  the  walls  of  chayder  ; 
he  was  away  beyond  somewhere  ;  he  was  elected  into 
the  fellowship  of  poetry  ;  what  did  Miss  Tibbet  matter 
for  ever  and  ever  ?  Again,  again  .  .  .  how  did  it  go  ? 
.  .  .  lest  he  should  lose  it !  Listen  !  Ah,  the  surge 
the  fullness  of  it ! 

Alone  I  walked,  I  walked  alone. 
I  sat  upon  a  mossy  stone. 
I  heard  a  bird  u/p  in  the  sky. 
He  sang  so  sweet  and  so  did  1 1 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  53 

Green  fields  stretdiing  away,  trees,  stones  with  soft 
moss,  a  bird,  a  bird  ! 

"  Feivel,  where  holds  one  ?  " 

Sickeningly,  with  the  click  of  a  trap,  the  walls  of 
chatjder  shut  to  about  him.  An  ecstasy  was  in  his  eyes. 
A  mist  of  stupidity,  helplessness,  obscured  their  light. 
Oh,  no  !  oh,  no  !  he  would  make  no  pretence  about  it. 
He'd  not  been  listening,  he'd  been  away,  singing  !  .  .  . 
What  did  it  matter  ?  Let  the  fist  come  down  on  his 
aching  back  !  Let  the  muscles  of  his  arm  be  pinched 
and  wrenched  again.    Listen,  oh  listen  ! 

/  heard  a  bird  up  in  the  shj» ' 
He  sang  so  sweet  and  so  did  I. 

He  lifted  his  wide  eyes  to  his  father.  In  an  even  voice 
he  said,  "  Tatte,  I've  not  been  listening  I  " 

A  thrill  of  subdued  expectance  went  round  the  chayder. 
His  enemies  rubbed  their  grubby  hands  gleefuUy.  One 
or  two  looked  anxious. 

But  there  was  no  explosion.  In  the  same  even  tones 
Reb  Monash  said,  "  Nu,  and  what  hast  thou  been 
doing  ?  " 

Slowly  Philip's  sallow  face  flushed  a  deep  crimson. 
Must  he  tell  ?  Must  he  stand  there  stripped  of  this  new 
garment  which  had  covered  him,  fragrant  with  spices 
and  touched  with  the  colours  of  a  new  dawn  ?  But  it 
was  the  voice  not  of  his  own  free  lips,  the  voice  ordered 
by  some  blind,  strong  dictate  of  the  heart, '^^that 'said, 
"  I  was  writing  a  poetry  !  " 

.  A  shght  sound  came  from  Reb  Monash's  lips.'  It  was 
only"^dimly  anger ;  it  was'^also  resignation,  dismay. 
His  lips  closed.  The  fires  of  his  wrath  last  night  had 
burned  round  his  son,  till  at  last  Philip  lay  on  the 
sofa,  spent,  lightless,  like  a  cinder.  He  had  thereon 
turned  to  Mrs.  Massel  who  at  one  stage  had  ventured  to 


54  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

intervene.  Would  she  like  to  see  her  son  stuff  his  maws 
with  pig ;  or  perhaps  grow  up  to  take  a  shiksdh  to  his 
arms  ?  All  that  night  low  sobbing  came  from  the  room 
where  Philip  slept.  Even  when  Reb  Monash  thought 
his  wife  sleeping,  there  came  an  answering  moan  from 
her  bed  as  the  sobbing  of  the  boy  entered  the  room  like  a 
frail  ghost.  Reb  Monash  turned  his  eyes  upon  his 
Hebrew  notebook. 

"  Go  thou  !  go  thou  !  go  !  "  he  said  heavily.  "  I'll 
deal  with  thee  later  !  " 

Philip  passed  from  the  room.  The  walls  of  chayder 
were  no  more  round  him  ;  his  head  rang  again  with  the 
poor  music  he  had  made. 

"  Mamma  !  "  he  said,  bursting  into  the  kitchen,  "I've 
made  a  poetry  !  " 

"  Feivele  !  "  she  exclaimed  with  horror.  "  Why  art 
thou  not  in  chayder .?  " 

"  He  sent  me  out !  "  he  answered,  his  lips  quivering. 
"I've  been  a  bad  boy  !  " 

"  Then  go  out  into  the  street !  "  she  said.  "  He'll 
see  thee  here  and  say  I'm  petting  thee  !  " 

He  ran  out  into  Angel  Street.  The  Hues  were  singing 
in  his  head.  He  skipped  along  Angel  Street,  from  the 
wire  factory  to  Doomington  Road  and  back  again, 
chanting  his  lines.  Then  Harry  Sewelson,  his  pal, 
came  into  his  mind.  He  would  make  use  of  his  unusual 
liberty  to  go  and  tell  him  about  the  "  poetry."  He  ran 
breathlessly  along  Doomington  Road  to  "  Sewelson's 
High-Class  Drapery  and  Hosiery  Estabhshment."  He 
passed  through  the  side  non-professional  door  along  a 
dark  lobby  to  the  kitchen.  Harry  sat  in  a  comer 
reading. 

A  sudden  shame  and  reluctance  overwhelmed  Philip. 
What  was  he  making  all  this  fuss  about  ?  Harry  would 
only  laugh  at  him,  and  why  shouldn't  he  ? 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  55 

"  Hello  !  "  said  Harry,  "  come  in  !  " 

Philip  came  forward.  "  What  are  you  reading  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Poetry  !  "  Harry  replied. 

This  put  a  different  complexion  on  affairs. 

"  Fve  just  done  a  poetry  !  "  Philip  declared  proudly, 
throwing  his  scruples  aside.  He  had  established  an 
affinity  with  a  printed  book. 

"  Gam  !  "  said  Harry  sceptically. 

"  Emmes  I " 

"  TeU  us  then  !  " 

^^  Alone  I  walkedy  I  walked  alone, 
I  sat  v/pon  a  mossy  stone. 
I  heard  a  bird  up  in  the  sky. 
He  sang  so  sweet  and  so  did  I. 

There,  what  d'you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  It's  not  your  own  !  " 

"  Emmes  adonoi  !  " 

Harry  looked  up  with  warm  commendation  in  his 
eyes. 

"  You  know,"  he  said,  "  it's  like  this  feller  !  " 

"  Who's  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  this  feller's  called  Tennyson  !  "  he  said,  turning 
the  leaves. 

Philip  drew  a  chair  close  and  together  they  examined 
the  faded  penny  reprint. 

"  Gosh  !  "  exclaimed  Philip  excitedly.  "  Isn't  that 
spiff !  " 

If  the  episode  of  the  profane  poem  written  during  the 
sanctity  of  "  Hebrew  "  had  rendered  Reb  Monash  sadly 
and  half -consciously  aware  that  in  Philip  he  had  nurtured 
a  son  who  lay  beyond  the  theoretic  and  practical  bounds 
of  his  knowledge ;  a  son  who  was  so  bewilderingly  unlike 


56  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

and  unworthy  of  himself  as  he  had  been  like  and  worthy 
of  his  father,  and  his  father  had  been  like  and  worthy 
of  his  grandfather,  and  so  backward  to  whichever  of 
the  Twelve  Tribes  had  fathered  his  race — if  the  episode 
of  the  poem  produced  in  him  only  fears  and  doubts,  it 
was  the  appearance  of  Mottele  which  crystalUzed  for  him 
the  difference  between  the  actual  Philip  and  the  PhiHp 
of  his  dreams. 

The  parents  of  Mottele  had  removed  to  Doomington 
from  a  smaller  town  in  an  adjacent  county  for  the 
specific  reason  that  Mottele  had  demanded  more  ade- 
quate instruction  in  Hebrew.  They  had  moved  even 
though  the  father  had  achieved  a  fair  cUentele  as  a 
tailor  in  the  town  where  he  had  settled,  whereas  the 
market  in  tailors  for  Doomington  was  already  hope- 
lessly glutted. 

At  the  time  when  Mottele  entered  Reb  Monash's 
chayder  Mottele  had  passed  his  ninth,  and  Philip  his 
tenth  birthday.  His  mother,  as  she  floated  in  amply 
behind  the  compact  figure  of  Mottele,  seemed  rather 
an  exhalation  from  Mottele  than  an  important  author  of 
his  existence.  She  was  vague  and  large  and  benignant  as 
a  moon,  shining  with  pale  piety  reflected  from  the  central 
sun  of  Mottele.  Mottele  himself  entered  as  one  doomed 
only  for  a  short  while  to  range  the  treacherous  zone  of 
the  fleshly.  By  an  inverse  law  of  gravity,  his  eyes  were 
drawn  upwards  to  the  ceiling  and  thence  to  the  mudless 
floors  of  Heaven  where  his  elder  brethren,  the  mediaeval 
Rabbis  and  the  early  Prophets,  awaited  the  quietus  to 
the  mundane  phase  of  Mottele's  piety.  His  general 
appearance  betokened  a  rigid  aloofness  from  the  vulgar 
delights  of  the  body.  Both  stud-holes  of  his  waterproof 
collar  were  in  excellent  condition  ;  the  pockets  which 
in  most  entrants  to  chayder  were  associated  with  the 
fecund  bulges   of  boy-merchandise,  displayed   only  a 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  57 

siddefy  a  Prayer  Book,  emerging  with  propriety ;  his 
stainless  boots  proved  that  the  rapturous  puddles  of  the 
roadway  were  unknown  of  his  fastidious  feet.  Upon  his 
head  sat  a  little  round  peakless  cap  from  which  fell  a 
demure  fringe  over  his  forehead.  There  was  something 
sweet  and  thin,  a  little  sickly  almost,  in  the  tender 
flute  of  his  voice  as  it  piped  to  Reb  Monash's  question  a 
response  as  innocent  as  honey. 

Upon  Reb  Monash  Mottele  produced  an  immediate  and 
visible  effect.  He  fell  naturally  into  a  manner  towards 
him  of  affection,  mingled  with  respect.  "Here,"  he 
declared,  "  here  truly  is  a  Judaic  child  !  Just  as  at  home  ! 
No  blackguarding  in  the  streets,  and  his  head  never 
running  this  way  and  that  to  nothingness  and  Gentile- 
hood.    A  credit  to  God  and  Man  !  " 

Mottele  seemed  almost  audibly  to  lap  up  the  instruc- 
tion tendered  him,  almost  audibly,  as  a  cat  audibly  laps 
milk  ;  you  might  almost  see  his  sharp  little  tongue  wash 
round  the  corners  of  his  mouth  to  make  sure  that  no 
drop  of  Jewish  wisdom  should  be  unabsorbed.  During 
"  Hebrew,"  he  sat  upon  his  corner  of  the  form  with  a 
rapture  of  concentration  worthy  of  some  infant  mystic 
vouchsafed  the  Beatific  Vision.  It  was  with  no  vulgar 
assertion  of  rights  that  his  claim  to  one  especial  end  on  one 
especial  form  was  recognized.  His  claim  existed  merely, 
and  one  might  question  as  easily  the  claim  of  Reb 
Monash  to  thump  the  back  for  inattention.  There  was 
something  both  ludicrous  and  infuriating  in  the  sight 
of  some  hulking  fellow  of  twelve  shuffling  heavily  away 
from  the  sacrosanct  seat,  as  the  result  of  some  slight 
pathetic  quiver  in  Mottele's  eyelids. 

Before  long  Mottele's  bark  was  sailing  the  deep  waters 
of  the  post  -  Pentateuchal  Bible,  while  Philip's  keel 
was  still  grinding  against  the  elementary  shingles  of 
the    "weekly   portion."     Mottele    now   became    Reb 


58  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Monash's  standard,  before  which  all  things  else,  at  but 
a  cursory  reference,  were  revealed  as  dross.  The  state 
of  Philip's  spiritual  health  was  shown  to  be  perilous  in  the 
extreme.    Now  too  Reb  Monash  developed  a  new  theory. 

"  It  is  not  that  Feivel  cannot !  "  he  declared  bitterly. 
"  He  will  not !  It  suits  him  not  to  be  a  good  Jew  ! 
Regard  then  Mottele  !  There  is  a  jewel  for  you,  there 
is  an  ornament  for  England,  one  shakes  with  delight 
of  him  in  the  Polisher  Shool.  One  says  in  looking  upon 
Mottele  that  there  is  hope  still  for  the  Hebrew  race ! 
Mottele  .  .  .  Mottele  .  .  .  Mottele  !  .  .  ." 

Day  after  day  the  word  Mottele  droned  or  thundered 
in  Philip's  ears.  All  that  was  stifling  in  Angel  Street  and 
repressive  in  chayder  took  to  itself  for  a  name  the  three 
syllables  of  Mottele.  The  word  began  to  lose  for  him  all 
its  physical  connotation.  Increasingly  it  became  for 
him  a  symbol  of  injustice  and  despair. 

Reb  Monash  had  felt  hitherto  that  the  child  of  his 
dreams,  such  a  child  as  would  have  been  a  living  glory 
in  Terkass,  was  almost  of  too  exquisite  a  lineament  for 
the  reality  of  this  godless  England.  But  Mottele  had  un- 
deceived him,  for  here  in  the  very  flesh  was  a  child  actually 
born  in  England  and  yet  recalling  irresistibly  the  piety 
of  his  own  boyhood  in  Russia  ;  a  child  such  as  he  had 
been  himself,  at  ten  years  an  intimate  of  greybeards  and 
an  object  of  almost  superstitious  affection  and  reverence 
among  the  old  women  of  the  Synagogue.  He  would  not 
confess  it  to  himself,  yet  there  seemed  an  element  of 
injustice  in  the  fact  that  he,  Reb  Monash,  to  whom 
surely,  on  the  grounds  of  his  own  holiness  and  the  unin- 
terrupted hohness  of  his  ancestry  generation  behind 
generation,  such  a  son  as  Mottele  was  due,  that  he  should 
be  the  father  of  so  unsatisfactory  a  child  as  Phihp.  There 
was  much  he  loved  in  Philip.  Because  of  the  very 
strength  of  his  love  for  Philip,  he  assured  himself,  he 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  59 

grieved  so  mucli  to  find  Pliilip  so  far  from  his  heart's^ 
desire.  It  was  as  mucli  a  matter  of  tlie  happiness  of 
Philip's  own  soul  as  of  the  happiness  and  credit  of  himself. 
But,  he  realized,  to  display  to  Philip  or  to  Philip's 
mother,  how  deep  was  his  love  for  his  son,  would  be 
tantamount  to  an  offence  against  God.  It  would 
sanction  the  delusion  that  he  accepted  Philip  such  as  he 
was,  whereas  the  Philip  he  strove  after  was  far  less  Ike 
Philip  than  like  himself  or  Mottele,  after  which  image, 
with  God's  grace,  he  would  yet  convert  his  son.  For 
there  was  much,  he  repeated,  he  loved  in  Philip  ;  as  for 
instance  his  poetry,  his  imagination,  which,  wedded  to 
Jewishness,  the  spiritual  state  called  Yidishheit,  were 
a  valuable  possession,  as  he,  in  his  oratory,  himself 
frequently  realized.  On  the  other  hand,  the  quality 
of  poetry,  unhealthily  developed,  might  nourish  errors 
concerning  the  primal  verity  of  YidisJikeit  which  might 
land  him  into  the  pits  of  the  unclean.  There  was  a 
certain  quality  of  the  rational  which  up  to  a  certain  limit 
was  likewise  a  decoration.  It  was  a  quality  which  could 
excellently  elucidate  a  parable  or  examine  an  obscure 
text  with  the  possible  result  of  throwing  upon  it  a 
naive  and  modern  light  very  entertaining  to  the  elders  at 
the  Sjrtiagogue ;  but  again,  like'^all  Philip's  positive 
qualities,  it  had  a  negative  aspect  of  the  greatest  spirit- 
ual danger.  It  was  a  God-sent  bounty  that  had  sent 
Mottele' in  his'way — ^Mottele,  who  had  imagination,  but 
not  to  excess,  who  was  rational,  but  not  unhealthily. 
By  placing  the  virtues  of  Mottele  in  a  clear  light  before 
Philip,  by  the  spectacle  of  the  affection  and  esteem 
which  Mottele  commanded  in  the  exercise  of  these 
virtues,  both  in  chayder  and  in  shool,  the  increasing 
contumacy  he  had  observed  with  alarm  in  Philip  would 
be  broken  down,  and  a  son  worthy  of  the  traditions  of 
Reb  Monash  adorn  his  home. 


60  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  I  hate  him  !  "  Philip  was  saying  to  Harry,  "  I 
hate  him  !  "  His  face  was  still  wet  with  tears  of  vexa- 
tion. His  fists  were  clenched  and  his  jaws  were  set 
viciously.  He  had  only  escaped  that  evening  by 
slipping  out  through  the  front  door  after  opening  it  for 
a  septuagenarian  panegyrist  of  Mottele. 

"  He's  only  a  liar  and  a  sucker-up  !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  He  does  it  for  just  what  he  can  get  out  of  it !  Thinks 
I  can't  see  !    Yah  !  "  he  growled  in  disgust. 

"  But  listen  !  "  said  Harry,  "  Just  listen  to  this  ! 

How  could  I  look  upon  the  day  ? 

They  should  Jmve  stabb'd  me  where  I  lay, 

Oriana — 
They  should  have  trod  me  into  clay, 

Oriana  / 

What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  Isn't  it  fine  ?  He 
seems  to  have  had  a  rottener  time  even  than  Mottele's 
giving  you  !    But  isn't  it  grand  stufE  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,  I  know  !  But  tell  me  what  I  can  do  ! 
I  hate  him  !    I  want  to  kill  him  !  " 

Harry  looked  up  reflectively.  "  Kill  him  ?  "  he  asked. 
"  Stab  him  where  he  lies,  Oriana  !  That's  an  idea, 
Philip  1  I  can  lend  you  a  peashooter.  Or,  why  not  try 
a  gonfalon  ?    Gonfalons  are  awfully  tricky  !  " 

"  You're  laughing  !  "  said  Phihp  indignantly.  "  I 
wish  you  came^to  our  chaydery  you  wouldn't  laugh  then, 
I  can  tell  you  !  " 

"  But  you  talked  about  killing  yourself,  didn't  you  ? 
Really,  I  don't  know  what  to  say  !  Kill  him  or  try  to 
forget  about  him  !  " 

"  Oh  God,  God  !  "  said  Philip,  banging  his  forehead 
in  despair.  '\It's  so  miserable  !  While  I'm  being  half 
killed,  he  sits  smiling  and  wiping  his  rotten  nose  !  " 

Harry  looked  up  sympathetically. 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  61 

"  Else  you  could  run  away  and  be  Two  Little  Vaga- 
bonds !  "  he  suggested. 

"  Don't  want  to  run  away !  He'd  swank  like  one 
o'clock,  the  pig  !  "  Philip  said  morosely.  "  Besides," 
he  added  in  a  slightly  altered  tone,  "  don't  want  to  run 
away  from  mother !  She'd  be  lonely !  Oh,  Harry,  you're 
no  help  to  a  chap,  you  aren't !  " 

Yet  the  conversation  was  not  wholly  fruitless.  It 
implanted  in  Philip  the  germ  of  more  than  one  idea. 

"  Rebhie,'^  said  Mottele  at  dinner  one  Saturday  after- 
noon, "  my  uncle,  peace-be-upon-him,  died  on  Thursday, 
no  ?  I  want  to  go  and  join  the  minyon  at  my  auntie's 
house  to-night." 

"  What  good  art  thou  at  a  minyon  ?  Thou  canst  not 
make  a  tenth !  Thou  art  in  years  still  far  from  thy 
thirteenth  year." 

"  But  all  the  same  it's  a  mitzvah  ?  " 

"  Ah,  true,  true  !  "  said  Reb  Monash,  his  eye  full  of 
benignant  appreciation.  "Go  thou  then.  Thou  art  no  big 
one  and  they  will  make  room  for  thee.  Bring  thou  in  the 
best  bread  thou  hast  forgotten,  Chayah,"  he  said  turning 
to  his  wife. 

She  rose  and  entered  the  parlour  where  Reb  Monash 
kept  the  "best  bread"  locked  in  the  sideboard.  She 
placed  the  bread  dutifully  before  her  husband.  ;It 
had  latterly  become  the  custom  for  Mottele  to  join 
the  Massel  family  for  dinner  on  the  Sabbath  mid- 
day. Reb  Monash  felt  that  his  punctilious  wash- 
ing before  meals,  his  prayers  before  food  and  his 
evident  appreciation  of  the  long  blessing  after  food, 
could  have  nothing  but  the  most  exemplary  effect  upon 
PhiHp. 

Philip  writhed  inwardly  to  find  Reb  Monash  cut  a 
couple  of  slices  of  the  "  best  bread  "  (so  dignified  because 


62  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

the  flour  was  of  a  slightly  superior  brand  and  was 
varnished  and  sprinkled  with  black  grain),  one  for 
Mottele  and  one  for  himself.  The  "  second  bread  "  lay  at 
the  other  end  of  the  table  for  the  consumption  of  his 
mother,  of  Channah  and,  of  course,  of  Philip.^^  The 
treatment  meted  out  respectively  to  Mottele  and  himself 
in  chayder  had  inured  him  to  indignity.  This  seemed, 
however,  an  unnecessary  slight  upon  his  mother,  even 
if  she  was  only  a  woman  and  therefore  somewhat  beyond 
the  pale  of  mascuhne  courtesies. 

"  As  for  thee,  Feivel,"  said  Reb  Monash,  "  after 
dinner  thou  wilt  stay  indoors  to^say  over  to  thyself  the 
week's  portion,  while  I  take  my  few  minutes'  sleep. 
It  was  badly  said  by  thee  in  chayder  on  Thursday  evening. 
Thou  didst  halt  three  times,  four  times.  When  wiit  thou 
learn  to  say  it  like  Mottele  ?  It  was  like  a  stream  run- 
ning, Chayah,  the  way  Mottele  said  it,  so  clear,  oh,  a 
pleasure !  " 

Mottele's  eyes  were  turned  ceilingwards  in  a  direction 
which  had  become  habitual  with  him  during  the  chant- 
ing of  his  praises.^  Praise  produced  in  him  no  tremor  of 
seif-consciousness.  It  was  his  due.  Being  a  good  Jew 
had,  there  was  ample  authority,  its  celestial  reward,  but 
that  did  not  render  superfluous  a  certain  meed  of  appre- 
ciation in  this  lesser  mundane  state. 

It  might  be  remonstrated  here  that  Mottele  displayed 
in  abundant  measure  the  qualities  of  "  priggishness  " 
already  repudiated  as  an  essential  element  in  Philip's 
character.  To  which  allegation  the  only  reply  must  be 
that  "  priggishness  "  simply  does  not  meet  the  Mottele 
case.  "  Priggishness "  is  a  word  defining  a  totally 
different  collection  of  quahties ;  those  persons  to  whom 
Mottele  was  a  delight,  and  they  were  many,  might  have 
admitted  that  he  was  distinguished  by  a  sort  of  pre- 
cocity, but  they  felt  this  precocity  definitely  to  demon- 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  68 

strate  how  pleasant  an  odour  was  Mottele  in  the  nostrils 
of  the  Lord,  Whose  providence  had  caused  Rebecca  to 
conceive  at  the  premature  age  of  three,  the  youthful 
Rabbi  Achivah  to  develop  the  beard  of  senihty  in  the 
course  of  a  single  night,  and  Mottele  to  be  the  thing  he 
was.  Those  persons,  on  the  other  hand,  to  whom  Mottele 
was  more  a  stink  than  an  odour,  and  it  is  to  be  regretted 
that  Philip  was  one  of  these,  would  have  laughed  with 
pale  scorn  at  the  idea  of  disposing  of  Mottele  as  a  "  prig," 
Mottele,  whose  sweet  face  was  a  cauldron  of  infamy  and 
whose  voice  was  harsher  than  a  Hell  hag's  lament  over 
an  escaped  soul. 

"  But,  tatte,  can't  I  just  go  out  to  the  corner^of^Angel 
Street  ?  "  asked  PhiHp  mournfully.  He  knew  instinc- 
tively that  utterance  of  the  possibility  put  it  effectively 
out  of  court. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  go  !  Have  I  not  spoken  ?  Enough  ! 
Nu,  Mottele,  when  thou  goest  to  study  in  the  Yeshivah, 
thou  wilt  come  to  see  me,  yes  ?  " 

Mottele  began  ingeniously  to  pun  upon  the  word 
Yeshivah.    Reb  Monash  beamed  with  delight. 

"  Well,"  said  Reb  Monash,  when  the  carrot  and  potato 
dessert  had  been  cleared  away,  "  I  go  to  sleep.  One  will 
see  thee  in  the  afternoon  shooly  Mottele,  for  minchah, 
eh?" 

"  God  being  so  good,  Reb  Monash  !  " 

"  And  forget  thou  not,  Feivel !  Not  a  foot  into  the 
street  or  thou  wilt  see  then  !  " 

"  But  Monash,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Massel,  *'  see  how  it  is  a 
jBne  day  !  Can't  he  just  go  out  and  get  some  air  in  the 
street  ?  " 

"  So  thou  must  take  his  part,  Chayah,  nu  ?  It  will  not 
harm  him  to  go  without  air.  The  Torah  if  he  will  imbibe 
will  do  him  more  good  !  " 

"  A  guten  Shahhos  !  "  said  Mottele  quietly  as  he  slid 


64  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

through  the  door,  "  A  good  Sabbath  !  "  Philip  looked 
towards  him  in  a  passion  of  dumb  hate.  Mottele  halted 
for  the  fraction  of  a  moment  with  a  trace  of  virtuous 
aloofness  and  a  slightly  lifted  head.  There  followed  a 
quick  flash  of  vivid  red  thrust  through  his  teeth,  and 
the  door  closed  softly  behind  him. 

"  I'll  show  him  !  I'll  show  him !  I'll  show  him  !  " 
the  words  pealed  through  PhiUp's  head.  "  The  devil ! 
I'U  give  it  him  !    Oh,  s'elp  me  if  I  don't !  " 

"  To  thy  chumish  then !  "  said  Reb  Monash  as  he 
chmbed  the  stairs. 

Philip  sat  down  on  a  dusty  form  in  the  deserted  chayder. 
He  turned  to  a  chapter  in  Genesis  and  started  mumbling 
aloud.  He  mumbled  on  to  the  end.  He  repeated  the 
portion  again,  having  already  ascertained  that  his 
knowledge  of  it  was  as  thorough  as  his  knowledge  of 
anything  could  be.  He  repeated  it  stupidly  a  third 
and  a  fourth  time.  He  knew  that  his  father  would  be 
sleeping  for  an  hour — ^no  more,  no  less.  Was  he  to  go  on 
mumbling  and  mumbling  for  a  hot  solid  hour  1  Oh, 
what  did  it  all  mean,  this  soupy  stuff,  what  sense  had 
it,  what  poetry  ? 

He  remembered  with  a  quahn  of  longing  a  line  or  two 
Harry  had  found  somewhere  : 

0  Brignall  banks  are  wild  and  fair 
And  Greta  woods  are  green.  .  ,  . 

But  this !  .  .  .  mumble,  mumble,  mumble,  that's 
all  it  was  .  .  .  rubb-ish  !  as  Miss  Tibbet  used  to  say. 
What !  Rubbish  ?  Oh,  sinful  thought !  He  laid  his 
fingers  dismayfuUy  against  his  sinning  hps.  After  all, 
Mottele  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  inception  of  the 
Bible  ;  neither  had  father,  for  that  matter.  The  Bible 
was  something  awful  and  unutterable  and  it  was  .  .  . 
Oh,  there  weren't  any  words  for  it !    And  he'd  said 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  65 

rubbish  !  Yet  God  would  understand  he  hadn't  really 
meant  it.  Besides,  if  God  were  a  young  boy  kept  in 
mumbling  all  a  Saturday  afternoon,  He  might  say 
unfortunate  things  about  the  Bible,  even  though  He's 
written  it  all  Himself.  But  how  close  it  was  in  here ! 
What  a  headache  he  had !  He  wasn't  supposed  to  go 
into  the  kitchen  and  talk  to  his  mother.  But  it  was 
stuffy,  horiibly  stuffy  .  .  .  and  he  knew  every  word  in 
his  chumish  seven  times  over.  Oh,  not  so  well  as  Mottele, 
oh,  no,  oh,  no  !  That  wasn't  to  be  expected !  Did  any- 
body know  anjrthing  so  well  as  Mottele  ?  How  he 
hated  Mottele  !  He  knew  that  poetry  was  beginning  to 
have  a  hold  over  his  affections  second  only  to  his  mother. 
But  he  didn't  love  poetry  half  so  passionately  as  he 
hated  Mottele.  That  reminded  him.  He  wasn't  going 
to  let  Mottele  stick  his  tongue  out  at  him,  after  Mottele 
had  polluted  the  house  with  his  presence  at  dinner. 
No,  he'd  first  cut  his  throat  three  times,  that  he 
would ! 

Where  was  it  now,  where  was  it  ?  i-jHe  hunted  about 
in  his  pockets.  One  possession,  and  not  for  intrinsic 
reasons,  Phihp  prized  above  all  others.  It  was  a  smooth 
chip,  several  inches  long.  Some  months  ago  now  he  had 
determined  to  assure  himself  of  some  record  of  the 
indignities  heaped  upon  him,  directly  or  indirectly 
caused  by  Mottele  !  The  idea  of  the  notched  stick  was 
very  popular  with  the  heroes  of  romance.  Yes,  that 
would  be  just  the  thing,  a  notched  stick  !  His  stick  was 
already  notched  all  the  way  down  one  side  and  well 
down  the  other.  Oh,  yes,  it  was  in  the  left  trouser 
pocket !  Strictly  he  wasn't  supposed  to  transfer  any- 
thing from  his  weekday  to  his  Saturday  pockets.  Nothing 
must  be  carried  on  a  Saturday.  But  he  could  not 
afford  to  be  without  his  notched  stick  even  on  Saturdays. 
It  was  the  only  thing  which  maintained  in  him  a  degree 


66  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

of  sanity  when  some  peculiarly  injurious  comparison  had 
been  made  between  Mottele  and  himself.  He  clutched 
t  grimly  inside  his  pocket  and  assured  himself  of  some 
ultimate  and  lurid  vengeance.  Torture  perhaps,  some 
form  of  slow  assassination  during  which  Mottele  was  all 
the  time  precisely  aware  of  the  assassin.  "  Kill  him  !  " 
Harry  had  suggested.  What  was  that  phrase  of 
Channah's  ?  .  .  .  "  Many  a  true  word's  spoken  in 
jest!" 

He  hardly  dared  to  notch  the  stick  while  it  was  still 
Shahhos.  Besides,  his  knife  was  in  his  weekday  trousers. 
He'd  not  forget  .  .  .  But  this  headache !  Father 
would  be  safely  sleeping  for  a  time  yet.  He'd  just 
creep  along  the  lobby  tip-toe  and  see  what  his  mother 
was  doing. 

"  Mamma,  Mamma,  hello  !  "  She  was  sitting  in  the 
meagre  light  of  the  window.  The  kitchen  around  her 
was  scrupulously  clean.  A  pair  of  cheap  steel-rimmed 
spectacles  lay  on  her  nose ;  she  was  reading  the 
Yiddish  version  of  the  Bible,  intended  especially  for 
women. 

"  Fievele,"  she  said,  "  thou  shouldst  be  repeating  thy 
chumish  now,  thou  shouldst  not  be  here  !  " 

"I've  got  such  a  headache,  Mamma,"  he  murmured 
clasping  his  forehead  with  a  somewhat  exaggerated 
gesture.  "  I  want  to  go  out  for  a  minute  or  two  !  I'm 
stufied  I  " 

"  But  he  said' no  M" 

**  I've  finished  now.  I  know  it  all.  What  more  can 
I  do  ?  " 

"  Thou  must  not  think  of  it !  " 

"  Ah,  let  me,"  he  said  appealingly,  "  only  a  minute  or 
two !  " 

"  What  will  he  say  to  me,  Feivele  ?  Better  go 
not !  " 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS   67 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  back  straight  away  !  Or  I'll  tell  you  what ; 
you  stand  at  the  front  door,  and  when  he  starts  getting  up 
wave  your  hand  and  I'll  be  back  in  a  jifiy,  long  before  he's 
down.   Ah  do,  Mamma  !  "^ 

"  If  thou  hast  a  headache  it  is  best  for  thee^to^be^^out- 
side  !  "  she  said  uneasily.  "  Go  then.  But  forget  not 
the  moment  I  wave  to  thee,  thou  art  back !  " 

PhiHp  darted  to  the  door. 

"  One  second  !  "  she  said,  "  here's  an  apple  for  thee  ! 
I  got  just  one — for  thee  !  " 

"  What  a  lovely  Mamma !  ^Thank  you,  thank  you  \J' 

It  was  a  forlorn  httle  figure^^stood  at  the  Angel  Street 
corner  of  Doomington  Road.  He  saw  the  crowded 
tram-cars  go  up  the  road  towards  an  urban  simulation 
of  moorland  called  "  Baxter's  Hill."  But  beyond  it 
green,  real  country  began  .  .  .  and  there  was  a  nver.  .  . 
He  saw  the  boys  of  Angel  Street  playing  games  with 
a  positively  weekday  enthusiasm.  He  had  wanted  par- 
ticularly to  go  and  talk  about  Tennyson  and  things 
with  Harry  this  afternoon  !  How  much  luckier  a  lot 
had  been  cast  for  Harry  !  There  was  a  genial,  vaguely 
terrifying  unorthodoxy  about  his  parents  which  some- 
times verged  upon  the  license  of  the  sheerly  Gentile. 
They  carried  money  on  Saturdays !  Mrs.  Sewelson 
put  the  kettle  on  the  fire  with  her  own  hands  on 
Saturdays.  But  he  wouldn't  change  his  own  mother 
for  a  hundred  anybody-else's  mothers,  he  vowed,  his 
eyes  softening,  his  teeth  biting  into  the  apple  she  had 
given  him. 

Would  it  be  congenial  to  bite  Mottele  1  No !  that 
was  girhsh — and  he'd  have  such  a  sweet,  nasty  taste. 
No  !  he'd  just  pommel  him,  the  "  dog's  body  "  (he  had 
heard  the  phrase  on  the  lips  of  Lena  Myer  in  description 
of  a  young  gentleman  who  had  transferred  his  attention 
from  Miss  Myer  to  another  lady).     Ah,  one  minute  ! 


68  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

What  was  tliat  Mottele  liad  said  about  going  to  attend 
a  prayer-for-the-dead  meeting  at  his  auntie's  house  ? 
Gosh  !  Here  was  an  idea  !  S'elp  me  if  Mottele  wouldn't 
have  to  attend  his  own  prayer-for-the-dead  meeting! 
By  heaven,  Mottele  had  gone  far  enough  !  It  was  about 
time  he  got  some  of  his  own  back  ! 

Surely,  Mother  was  waving  !  Oh,  yes,  certainly  she 
was !  He  doubled  back  like  a  rabbit  surprised  on  the 
edge  of  a  thicket.  When  his  father  entered  the  room  he 
was  safely  mumbling  away. 

"  Feivel,  thou  art  panting !  "  said  Reb  Monash  sus- 
piciously. 

"  I've  been  crying  !  "  repUed  Phihp  sullenly. 

"  So  ?  Well,  let  me  hear  what  thou  dost  with  thy 
chumish  now  !  Mind  not  one  mistake,  or  thou  wilt  not 
stir  from  the  house  after  Shahhos  one  step  I  " 

PhiUp  recited  the  portion  with  flawless  accuracy.  The 
week  was  duly  ushered  in  with  the  night  service  of  the 
Sabbath.  It  was  dark  when  Philip  made  his  way  along 
Doomington  Road  and  turned  to  the  right  past  the 
Bridgeway  Elementary  School  along  the  side  of  it  skirted 
by  Blenheim  Road.  The  road  led  to  a  sHghtly  loftier 
stratum  of  Doomington,  past  gloomy  brick-crofts 
which  rose  into  the  muddy  hills  on  one  side  and  sank 
into  clayey  pools  on  the  other,  and  it  was  along 
this  road  that  Mottele  was  bound  to  pass  after 
the  service  on  his  return  home.  Force  of  habit 
would  lead  him  along  the  right  side,  from  which  the 
ground  sloped  downwards.  Rain  brought  the  yellow 
mud  sluicing  from  the  hiUs  on  the  opposite  side, 
rendering  it  therefore  unpalatable  for  such  dehcate 
boots  as  Mottele's. 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  69 

The  red  tongue  of  his  enemy,  a  shght  enough  offence 
in  itself,  but  by  accident  a  consummation  of  so  much 
preceding  injury,  had  gone  more  venomously  to  Philip's 
heart  than  Mottele  had  intended.  Disregarding  the 
unwisdom  of  soiling  his  Saturday  suit,  PhiHp  lay  down 
to  begin  his  vigil.  Mottele  was  a  long  time  in  arriving. 
No  doubt,  Philip  mused,  he  was  sucking  in  the  praise 
due  to  him  for  gratuitously  walking  up  to  Longton 
to  take  part  in  the  service.  Phihp  passed  his  finger- 
nail down  the  notches  in  his  stick.  Twenty-five,  twenty- 
six  ...  a  dull  anger  stupefied  him  .  .  .  twenty-nine 
.  .  .  One  after  one  in  gibbering  disorder,  the  occasions 
immortalized  on  the  notched  stick  recreated  themselves 
in  his  mind. 

"  Mottele,  oh,  an  Israel  glory  is  Mottele  !  " 

"  Mottele,  Mottele,  Mottele  !  .  .  ." 

Curse  Mottele  .  .  .  the  "  dog's  body  "  !  And  here  was 
Mottele  turning  round  the  bend  in  the  road,  his  detest- 
able little  figure  caught  in  the  rays  of  a  lamp.  Good, 
good !  He  was  bound  to  pass  that  way.  He  shd  his 
body  a  couple  of  yards  cautiously.  That  brought  him 
nearly  to  the  deep  part  of  the  pond  .  .  .  Two  feet  deep, 
at  most,  but  that  would  do  !  Ah,  glory  to  God,  here  he 
was ! 

It  was  over  surprisingly  quickly.  He  rushed  out  upon 
the  unsuspecting  Mottele,  fell  upon  him  and  dragged  him 
irresistibly  over  the  edge  of  the  pavement  towards  the 
pond.  They  swung  there  for  a  moment  or  two  against 
its  edge.  Phihp  felt  Mottele's  fingers  tighten  in  his  hair. 
Mottele  seemed  to  remove  not  only  his  cap  but  half  his 
scalp.  The  next  moment  Mottele  lay  squelching  in  the 
ooze. 


70  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  Yah,  Israel's  glory,  how  d'you  like  that  ?  Yah, 
dog's  body !  " 

There  was  a  spluttering.  Then  in  Yiddish,  "  The 
God  of  Abraham,  Isaac  and  Jacob  will  show  thee !  " 
In  English  followed,  "  Yer  bloody  bastard  !  " 

But  a  sudden  and  ghastly  fear  had  gripped  Philip. 
A  realization  of  the  enormity  of  his  crime  possessed  him. 
He  swept  the  grass  blindly  for  a  cap,  lifted  it,  and  ran 
down  the  Blenheim  Road,  his  heart  thumping  in  a 
tumult  of  dismay. 

He  had  been  in  the  house  for  about  twenty  minutes 
when  Reb  Monash  asked  :  "  Feivel,  whose  cap  art  thou 
wearing  ?  " 

Philip  took  his  cap  off.  With  a  grimace  he  discovered 
it  was  Mottele's.  He'd  know  sooner  or  later  anyhow. 
It  was  quite  useless  to  lie  about  it. 

"  Mottele's  !  "  he  replied. 

"  Where  didst  thou  get  it  ?  " 

No  answer. 

Threateningly,  in  crescendo : 

"  Where  didst  thou  get  it  ?  " 

"  Found  it !  " 

"  Where  ?    Say  thou  where,  at  once  !  " 

There  was  a  loud  knocking  at  the  door.  Reb  Monash 
remained  in  ignorance  but  a  few  seconds  longer.  A 
deputation  poured  into  the  kitchen.  It  consisted  of 
two  or  three  women,  an  old  man  gabbling  indignantly, 
the  father  of  Mottele,  the  mother  of  Mottele,  and  in  her 
arms,  swathed  in  a  shawl,  the  soaked,  screaming  Mottele 
himself. 

"  It  is  well !  "  said  Reb  Monash  shortly.  "  It  is  well !  " 
he  said  quietly  and  grimly.    "  You  may  go  !    We  shall 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS    71 

be  happy  together,  Feivel  and  I !  "  he  added  with  acid 
humour. 

Philip  was  conscious  of  the  strained  white  face 
of  his  mother  staring  from  the  candle-lit  gloom 
of  the  scullery.  He  didn't  mind  these  things  him- 
self so  fearfully  much  .  .  .  but  somehow  she 
never  seemed  able  to  get  used  to  them  ...  ah 
well,  he'd  had  his  whack  .  .  .  the  sooner  it  was 
over  !  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  V 

NOT  the  most  enthusiastic  observer  could  have 
foretold  the  growth  of  a  friendship  between 
PhiHp  and  Mottele.  On  the  other  hand,  Reb  Monash 
regarded  with  some  alarm  the  growing  relations  be- 
tween his  son  and  Harry  Sewelson.  He  was  not  wholly 
satisfied  that  a  sound  Jewish  atmosphere  ruled  in  the 
Sewelson  household,  but  his  own  path  and  theirs  were 
too  far  apart  for  any  accurate  ascertainment.  Though 
they  did  not  Hve  far  away  the  Sewelsons  were  neither 
relatives  nor  landsleit;  and  it  was  a  fact  that  landsleit, 
that  is,  folk  who  have  emigrated  from  the  same  region 
or  township  in  Eastern  Europe,  knew  more  of  each 
other's  affairs  though  they  Hved  at  opposite  ends  of 
Doomington,  than  folk  who  had  originated  from  different 
provinces  of  the  Exile,  even  though  these  hved  in  the 
same  street.  He  remembered  with  a  certain  dismay 
how  upon  the  first  occasion  that  Phihp  had  invited 
his  friend  to  Angel  Street,  Sewelson  had  instinctively 
removed  his  cap  upon  entering  the  kitchen — an  act 
which,  perversely  enough  to  non-Jewish  minds,  is  not 
merely  bad  manners  in  an  orthodox  Jewish  house,  but 
positively  savours  of  sin. 

Harry  had  sat  there  quietly,  but  his  grey  eyes  keenly 
observant.  He  had  entered  the  conversation,  however, 
with  a  certain  fertility  of  Yiddish  vocabulary  and  idea 
which  more  nonplussed  Reb  Monash  than  won  him 
over.    When  he  sat  down  to  bread  and  butter  and  tea 

7» 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS    73 

with  Philip,  his  prayer-before-food  was  so  rapid  and 
brief  a  mumble  as  to  suggest  either  ignorance  or  con- 
tempt. 

"  It  Ukes  me  him  not,  this  young  man  !  '*  declared 
Reb  Monash  with  some  anxiety.  But  there  was  not  at 
this  time  any  specific  reason  for  forbidding  the  friend- 
ship between  the  two  lads  ;  so  that  when  chayder  and 
shool  left  room  for  the  dissipation,  PhiUp  was  away  up 
Doomington  Road  and  in  the  kitchen  beyond  the 
Drapery  and  Hosiery  Estabhshment. 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  PhiUp  was  saying,  "  I 
don't  know  what  it  is  about  poetry.  Somehow,  you 
can  get  away  with  it.  It's  hke  a  .  .  .  it's  Hke  a  road, 
isn't  it  ?  You  start  in  Angel  Street  and  you  start 
walking  and  hey,  hullo  !  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  You're  right  and  you're  wrong !  "  declared  Harry. 
He  was  now  a  mature  man  of  twelve,  and  in  ways  more 
or  less  subtle  was  fond  of  rendering  the  disparity  of  a 
year  between  them  apparent  to  PhiUp.  "  It's  more'n 
that,  I  think.  It  can  take  you  away,  but  it  can  keep 
you  there  as  well.  You  understand  better  what  it  all 
means.  You  understand,  that's  what  poetry  means !  '* 
he  declared  solemnly,  his  face  assuming  an  aspect  of 
such  inscrutable  wisdom  as  PhiUp  might  or  might  not 
penetrate. 

"  I  can't  understand  !  "  said  PhiUp  morosely.  "  It's 
too  big  to  try.  Besides  I  don't  want  to  understand,  so 
there  I  It's  rotten,  the  whole  thing's  rotten,  chayder 
and  Angel  Street  and  shool  and  the  lads  and  everything. 
I  hate  it  all  and  I  don't  want  to  understand  it.  I  just 
feel  that  poetry's  nice,  a|milUon  times  nicer  than  all  this 
everywhere.  ..."  He  pointed  comprehensively  beyond 
and  round  the  waUs  of  the  kitchen  to  include  the  whole 
of  life  as  it  presented  itself  to  him. 

"  What  a  girly-girly  word,  nice  I "  scofied  Harry. 


74  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  You  ought  to  be  careful  what  words  you  say  or  you'll 
never  get  a  scholarship.  Poetry  is  not  nice — it's  splendid, 
and  magnificent  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Nice! 
Ugh ! » 

"  Well,  you  know  what  I  mean  !  "  said  Philip  uncom- 
fortably. The  tendency  to  jibe  at  him  was  a  somewhat 
distracting  trait  that  had  manifested  itself  in  his  rela- 
tions with  Harry.  The  wholly  undefined  idea  stirred 
vaguely  within  him  that  Harry  treated  him  somewhat 
as  he  treated  poetry — as  something  out  of  which  he  could 
make  intellectual  capital,  something  to  make  use  of — 
like  chewing  gum  which  you  kept  on  chewing  and  chew- 
ing until  there  wasn't  any  more  chew  in  it,  and  then  you 
just  stuck  it  under  a  chair  and  forgot  about  it.  But  he 
speedily  shook  ofi  ideas  of  this  disturbing  kind.  Life 
was  already  sufficiently  complicated  without  mixing  it 
up  with  silly  old  bogeys  which  led  nowhere.  Moreover, 
his  friendship  with  Harry  was  worth  it,  if  only  for  the 
sake  of  discussing  poetry. 

"  Poetry  makes  you  feel  funny  !  "  said  PhiHp.  "  It's 
nicer'n  singing  or  pictures.  It  doesn't  let  you  think  at 
all  ...  I  mean  thinking  like  thinking  out  sums  about 
how  many  herrings  in  a  barrel  at  twelve  and  sixpence 
what's  one  and  a  half  next  week  !    See  ?  " 

"  There's  thinking  and  thinking !  "  Harry  postulated. 
"  There's  thinking  about  herrings  and  a  half — and 
thinking  about  philoserphy ! "  he  declared  pom- 
pously. 

"  Philwhaterphy  ?  "  asked  Philip  with  a  mixture  pf 
scepticism  and  reverence. 

"  Philoserphy  !  " 

"  Whatever  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"|0h,  knowing^all  about  things  upside  down  !  " 

"  What's  that  got  to  do  with  Tennyson  ?  "  Philip 
asked  smartly,  as  if  lie  had  rather  scored  a  point* 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  75 

"  Tennyson  never  says  anything  at  all  about  jography 
or  mensuration.  I  suppose  he  forgot  all  about  'em  when 
he  left  school !  "  Philip  continued. 

"  That  shows  all  you  know !  Philoserphy  is  some- 
thing bigger'n  jography.    Got  nothing  to  do  with  it !  '* 

"  What's  Tennyson's  philoserphy  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  better  to  be  an  Englishman  than  a  Chinee  !  " 
Harry  decided,  expanding  his  bosom  with  vicarious 
patriotism. 

"  I  like  carrots  more'n  cabbage  I  Is  that  philoserphy?" 
asked  Philip,  in  some  slight  fear  of  his  intellectual 
patron. 

"  There's  a  lot  more  in  it,  too  !  "  repUed  Harry  some- 
what uneasily,  disregarding  his  friend's  levity.  "  In  the 
spring  a  young  man  comes  out  all  spots  and  goes  and 
gets  married  !    There  !  " 

"  Humph  !  I  s'pose  there's  lots  of  philoserphies  and 
things  in  Tennyson  !  "  agreed  Philip,  not  wholly  con- 
vinced. "  But  I  like  poetry  because  it's  .  .  .  because 
it's  got  .  .  .  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  say  !  You 
know  I " 

"  Well  anyhow,  /  know  why  I  like  poetry  !  "  Harry 
insisted. 

"  You  know  the  song  we're  singing  in  school  ?    It 

Come  unto  these  yellow  sands, 

And  then  take  hands. 
Curtsey' d  when  you  have  and  kissed, 

The  wild  waves  whist  / 

"  Now  when  they're  all  singing  it,  I  hate  singing  it.  It 
all  gets  lost  in  twiddly-bits.  I  just  say  it,  slowly,  and 
not  listening  to  the  class.  See  how  it  goes,  like  kids 
dancing  at  Mother-Ice-cream's  organ, 

Come  imto  these  yellow  aanda  i 


76  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

and  then  you  all  sort  of  stop  a  minute  and  go  slowly,  like 
drilling,  only  beautifuller. 

And  then  take  hands  / 

And  have  you  ever  seen  what  a  lot  of  'w's'  there  is  in 
that  line.    Just  listen  : — 

The  wild  waves  whist ! 

I  wonder  if  that's  done  on  purpose  ?  " 

"Of  course  it  is  !  "  Harry  said  with  a  note  of  supe- 
riority in  his  voice.  "  That's  what  they  call  *  alliteration ! ' 
They  have  a  dictionary  and  put  down  all  the  nice  words 
beginning  with  one  letter  and  then  they  start  writing 
poetry.    It's  very  clever  !  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  too  clever  !  "  agreed  Philip,  embarrassingly 
conscious  of  a  whole  field  of  technical  difficulty  yet  to  be 
ploughed  before  attaining  the  happy  position  of  a 
Tennyson.  "  Now  she  didn't  tell  us  who  wrote  that 
poem  ?    Who  was  it  ?  " 

"  That  foetry ! "  stressed  Harry,  with  an  ironic 
reminiscence  of  an  error  not  long  thrown  over  by  his 
friend,  "  was  by  William  Shakespeare.  Better  than 
Tennyson  they  do  say  !  " 

"  Better  than  Tennyson ! "  Philip  repeated  with 
something  of  horror  at  the  irreverence.  "  But  Tennyson 
was  a  Lord  I  " 

"  Well,  Lords  are  not  everything !  Some  Lords* 
grandfathers  were  just  beer-house  men  !  "  exclaimed  a 
democratic  Harry. 

"  What  was  this  Shakespeare,  anyhow  ?  I  think  we 
used  to  do  a  recitation  by  him  all  about  stiffening  the 
sinews,  didn't  we  ?  " 

"He  was  in  a  stable,  and  pinched  rabbits  from  a 
woman  called  '  Lowsy  Lucy  ' !    That's  his  life  story  !  '* 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  77 

"  And  yet  he  wrote  all  that  about  coming  to  these 
yellow  sands  and  then  holding  hands !  But  he  can't 
really  be  better  than  Tennyson.  He  never  wrote  those 
lines  about  hollyhocks.   Do  you  remember  ?    Like  this  : 

Heavily  hangs  the  hollyhock. 
Heavily  hanga  the  tiger-lily  ! 

Those  are  the  beautifuUest  lines  all  over  anjrwhere  !  " 

"A  bit  of  a  tongue  twister,  eh  ?  Makes  you  pro- 
nounce all  your  aitches  like  "  hammer  hammer  hammer 
on  the  hard  high  road !  "  Harry  blasphemed,  twink- 
ling. 

"  Oh  don't,  don't !  "  exclaimed  Philip,  a  catch  of 
pain  in  his  voice. 

"  Anyhow  there  isn't  any  philoserphy  in  those  lines  ! 
And  you  don't  know  what  hollyhocks  are  ?  How  can 
you  like  the  lines  ?    It's  swank  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  !  It  might  be  because  I  don't  know,  I 
like  the  lines.  But  I  do  know  it's  a  flower  ;  and  when  I 
see  the  real  flower  I'll  be  glad  to  see  it.  But  it's  got 
nothing  to  do  with  the  poetry.    That's  just  by  itself : 

Heavily  hangs  the  hollyhock. 
Heavily  hangs  the  tiger-lily  !  " 

"  Never  mind,  never  mind  !  "  said  Harry  sapiently, 
"  you'll  grow  older  some  day  !  " 

"  I  wonder  !  "  mused  Philip.  "  But  look  here,  what's 
the  time  ?  Crutches  !  Half -past  eight !  Got  to  be  in 
bed  at  nine  !    So-long,  Mr.  Philoserphy  !  " 

"  So  long  till  next  time  !  "  returned  the  sage,  settling 
himself  down  to  his  book.    "  0  revower  !  " 

As  Philip  ran  along  Doomington  Road  he  could  not 
help  halting  at  the  floral  establishment  half-way  home 


78  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

which  recently  had  initiated  a  forlorn  crusade  against 
the  artistic  apathy  of  the  neighbourhood.  Already,  it 
was  evident,  the  high  ideals  of  Madame  Smythe,  Floriste, 
were  being  tarnished  by  the  rust  of  compromise.  She 
had  opened  her  establishment  with  a  blaze  of  purely 
floral  splendour.  There  were  rose  trees  entering  into 
bloom,  lilies,  bunches  of  garden  flowers,  democratic 
pots  of  geranium  and  fuchsia,  tall  tulips,  narcissi ;  and 
as  a  subfusc  groundwork,  wooden  boxes  of  bulbs, 
manures,  weed  killers,  syringes  and  packets  of  seed. 
It  was  not  long  before  young  vegetables  were  intro- 
duced, ostensibly  on  the  ground  that  vegetables  such  as 
potatoes  and  peas  had  a  floral  as  well  as  a  dietetic 
significance.  And  now  hoary  potatoes,  full-grown 
carrots,  unblushing  turnips,  made  an  almost  animal 
show  among  the  fragility  of  creeper  and  flowers. 

None  the  less  Madame  Smythe's  shop  was  the  nearest 
thing  to  poetry  in  the  concrete  that  Philip  had  yet 
encountered.  Not  a  day  passed  but  that  Philip  on  his 
return  from  school  flattened  his  nose  against  the  floristic 
window-pane,  his  eyes  dazzled  with  delight,  albeit 
calceolaria  and  hyacinth  equally  were  mere  words  to 
him. 

One  day  he  observed  that  a  new  glory  arose  from 
Madame  Smythe's  tallest  and  most  expensive  vase.  It 
took  the  shape  of  three  flowers  which  he  had  not  seen 
before  (he  had  not  seen  them  for  the  reason  that  Madame 
Smythe  opened  the  shop  in  spring,  and  the  new-comers 
were  autumn  flowers).  They  were  fluffy  masses  of 
numberless  soft  yellow  petals,  bending  slightly  on  their 
stalks  like  a  gracious  and  lovely  woman.  Oh,  the 
rapture  of  burying  a  nose  in  these  fragrant  sweet  cushions, 
the  rapture  of  seeing  one  of  them  upon  his  mother's 
blouse  till  her  own  brown  eyes  caught  additional  gold 
Erom  the  gold  of  these  blooms  I 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  79 

Heavily  hangs  the  hollyhock. 
Heavily  hangs  the  tiger-lily, 

he  murmured.  Ah,  the  scrumptious  hollyhocks  !  That's 
what  they  were  of  course !  Hollyhocks !  "  Heavily 
hangs  the  hollyhock  1  "  Thsit'ajust  what  these  flowers 
were  doing  !  He  had  no  sooner  coupled  the  name  with 
the  flower  than  by  the  easiest  process  in  the  world  the 
flower  and  the  name  became  one.  No  wonder  Tennyson 
wrote  poetry  about  hollyhocks  !  Just  look  how  each 
little  petal  curled  so  exquisitely,  each  petal  fresh  as 
morning,  yet  chiselled  finely  into  perfect  form  ! 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  spiff  to  buy  a  hollyhock  and  give  it  to 
mother,  saying  (as  one  always  said  in  romance),  *  For 
the  Fairest ! '  then  bowing  gallantly  !  "  he  mused. 
"  What  can  I  do  ?  I  get  a  ha'p'ny  a  week,  when  I'm  good, 
from  father.  I'll  be  good  for  three  weeks.  That'll  be 
three-ha'pence.  Then  I'll  go  in  and  buy  a  hollyhock. 
Oo,  what  fun  1  " 

The  second  and  third  halfpennies  were  added  to  the 
first,  not  without  depressions  in  the  barometer  of  virtue. 
He  shyly  entered  the  shop  of  his  ambitions. 

"  Can  I  have  a  hollyhock,  please,  ma'am  !  " 

"  A  hollyhock  ?  I'm  sorry,  young  man,  we  don't 
keep  no  hollyhocks  !  " 

A  look  of  grievous  disappointment  came  into  Philip's 
face.    His  voice  trembled. 

"  But  please,  ma'am,"  he  said,  "  you've  had  some 
hollyhocks  in  the  window  and  somebody's  bought  'em 
and  now  you've  got  some  more  hollyhocks  !  " 

"  Gracious  !  what  can  the  young  man  want !  We 
ain't  got  no  hollyhocks!  Just  show  me  what  you 
mean!" 

Philip  approached  the  lattice-work  which  separated 
the    shop    from    the    shop    window.     He   pointed   to 


80  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

the  vase  where  his  hollyhocks  bloomed  rich  and 
desirable. 

"  One  of  those  hollyhocks,  please  !  "  he  said. 

"  Hollyhocks  !  "  she  snorted.  "  Hollyhocks  !  Haw, 
haw,  haw  !  Lawks  !  Them's  chrysanthemums  !  Haw, 
haw,  haw !  " 

Philip's  disappointment  deepened.  It  was  the  glamour 
of  the  word  no  less  than  the  actual  flower  that  had 
drawn  his  feet  to  pilgrimage.  But  Madame  Smythe 
had  lifted  the  vase  of  chrysanthemums  from  the 
window. 

"  One,  did  you  say  ?  "  she  inquired,  resuming  busi- 
ness. 

"  Yes,  one,  please ! "  he  assented,  with  trepida- 
tion. 

"  Here  you  are,  sir,  thank  you  !  " 

He  opened  his  hands  where  the  Jialfpennies  lay 
warm  and  wet.  He  placed  his  three  coins  on  the 
counter. 

""'What ! "  she  snapped,  somewhat  dangerously. 
"  Sixpence,  if  you  please  !  " 

"  I — ^I — I'm  sorry  !  "  he  said  weakly  and  blush- 
ing violently,  "I'm  sorry !  I  haven't  got  any 
more !  " 

"  Go  home  !  "  said  Madame  Smythe  more  genially, 
melting  as  she  perceived  the  lad's  embarrassment.  "  Go 
home   and   tickle   your   fat   aunt  I     Tell   her   I   told 

you ! " 

Now  even  if  they  weren't  hollyhocks,  and  he  reflected 
bitterly  that  he  had  had  no  warrant  for  calling  them 
hollyhocks,  he  wasn't  going  to  be  humiUated  in  this  way. 
No  !  not  even  if  they  cost  ninepence,  let  alone  sixpence. 
No,  he  was  going  to  buy  a  hollyhock,  that  is  to  say  a 
chrysanthemum,  for  his  mother,  even  if  he  died  for  it ! 
How    could   he    get   sixpence  ?     An   appalling    sum, 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  81 

on  the  further  side  even  of  avarice,  but  he  was 
going  to  get  it,  and  he  already  had  three-ha'pence, 
anyhow ! 

Another  three  weeks  of  comparative  virtue  swelled  his 
total  to  threepence.  Two  separate  ha'p'nies  from  his 
sister  Dorah  (who  had  been  married  for  years  and  lived 
up  in  Longton),  and  he  was  worth  fourpence.  It  was  a 
point  of  honour  not  to  receive  the  sUghtest  subsidy  from 
his  mother  towards  her  own  gift.  A  ha'p'ny  borrowed 
from  Harry  and  three-ha'pence  from  the  sale  of  an 
enormous  number  of  Dandy  Dave's  chronicled  exploits 
brought  him  the  desired  total. 

He  marched  boldly  into  Madame  Smythe's  estab- 
lishment. "  One  chrysanthemum,  please  !  "  he  de- 
manded. 

"  Come  again,  Johnny,  eh  ?  Got  the  money  this 
time  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  have  !  " 

"  Hoity-toity  !    All  right,  my  lord  !  " 

"  Here  you  are,  ma'am  !  "  he  said,  as  he  received  the 
flower  wrapped  in  tissue-paper  and  handed  over  his 
coins. 

"  I  say  !  I  say  !  Mr.  Rich  !  You've  given  me  too 
much !  " 

"  But  you  said  sixpence  !  " 

"  Oh,  that  was  weeks  ago  !  They're  cheaper  now  ; 
they're  only  threepence  !  " 

He  was  sickened  to  think  he  had  allowed  the  extra 
weeks  to  pass  by  thus  unchrysanthemumed.  "  Give  me 
another  I  "  he  demanded  haughtily  to  convince  Madame 
Smythe  of  his  superiority  to  all  consideration  of 
money. 

The  kitchen  was  crowded  when  Philip  entered  with 
his  flowers  and  he  slipped  in  unnoticed  to  join  his  mother 
in  the  scullery. 


82  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  Mamma,"  he  said  shyly,  "  I've  brought  you  a  present 
all  for  yourself !  " 

*'  Oh,  Feivele,  sweet  child,  how  lovely  !  But  the 
money,  where  didst  thou  get  the  money  from  ?  " 

"  I've  been  saving  up.  Mamma.  But  never  mind 
about  that !  You've  got  to  take  these  flowers  and  wear 
them  on  your  blouse  !  " 

"  But  I  can't,  Feivele  !  It's  not  right  a  married 
woman  should  wear  flowers.  Knowest  thou  not  a 
Jewish  woman  must  not  wear  her  own  hair  ?  How  then 
shall  I  wear  flowers  ?  And  what  will  thy  tatte  say  ?  I 
can't,  my  child  !  " 

"  Oh,  Mamma  I've  been  saving  up  for  such  a  long  time 
just  to  buy  'em  for  you.  And  now  you  don't  want  'em. 
It's  rotten,  it's  real  rotten  of  you  !  " 

"  I  do  want  them ;  see,  look  where  I  put  them  in  this 
jar.  They'll  be  here  a  long  time,  while  I'm  standing  in 
the  scullery,  washing  up  and  peeling  potatoes.  And  when 
they're  dead,  Feivele,  they'll  still  be  living  inside  me. 
Dost  thou  understand  ?  Thou  art  a  good  child  !  "  she 
said,  "  God  bless  thee  !  "  She  bent  down  and  kissed  his 
forehead. 

...  It  was  memories  such  as  these  and  such  chance 
snatches  of  poetry  thatlcept  Philip  that  evening  against 
the  window-pane  of  Madame  Smythe,  Floriste,  for  many 
contemplative  minutes.  Nine  o'clock  had  passed 
when  at  last  he  entered  the  kitchen  of  Number  Ten 
Angel  Street. 

"  Regard  the  hour  !  "  said  Reb  Monash.  "  Thou 
hast  been  squandering  the  hours  with  Sewelson !  It 
likes  me  not  that  Sewelson  !  What  about  thy  scholar- 
ship !  Thou  shouldst  have  been  in  to-night  studying 
for  thy  scholarship  after  chayder.  Much  success  thou 
wilt  win  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  about  the  scholarship !  "    said  Philip 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  83 

apologetically.  "  Emmes,  tatte,  I'll  be  in  all  to-morrow 
night  studying  the  history  book  !  " 

"  Well,  we  shall  see  then  !  Go  to  bed  now,  at  once  ! 
Good  night !  " 

"  Good  night  all !  " 

Philip  had  recently  been  chosen  as  one  of  the  candi- 
dates for  the  Doomington  School  Scholarship  Examina- 
tion by  the  master  of  Standard  Seven,  whither  Philip's 
talents  in  "  Grammar  and  Composition"  had  brought  him 
with  unusual  rapidity.  Reb  Monash  was  delighted  that 
his  son  was  progressing  at  least  along  the  road  to  Gentile 
scholarship.  His  experience  contained  the  records  of 
several  young  men  whose  earher  years  had  been  devoted 
to  the  mastery  of  secular  knowledge,  which,  in  due  time, 
only  turned  them  with  the  more  zeal  to  Jewish  wisdom, 
whereto  all  other  accomplishments  were  but  footnotes 
and  commentaries ;  these  young  men  had  actually 
been  enabled  through  their  Gentile  wisdom  to  study  the 
Bible  and  the  Talmud  from  a  new,  and  sometimes  from 
a  broader,  point  of  view.  He  himself  could  read  English 
well  and  was  no  mean  scholar  of  the  Russian  and  German 
literatures.  In  addition  to  which,  of  course,  was  his 
profundity  in  Hebrew  lore,  which  gave  him  an 
honoured  position  among  the  very  circle  of  the 
Rabbis. 

*'  It  will  do  him  no  harm  I  "  said  Reb  Monash.  "  If 
he  will  be  like  Moishe  Nearford  I  will  not  be  displeased. 
You  know  Moishe  Nearford,  the  Long  One  ?  Not  only 
was  he  high  in  Doomington  School  but  he  went  on  to  the 
university  where  one  respected  him,  God  and  Man. 
And  yet  a  Jew  is  he,  a  perfect  one.  Never  goes  out  with 
any  other  girl,  only  his  sister  you'll  see  on  his  arm,  week 
after  week.  A  real  Jew,  say  I,  and  a  real  brother  !  And 
what  about  Moses  Montefiore  ?    He  would  stand  up  in 


84  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

the  House  of  Parliament  while  one  talked  of  taxes  and 
India  and  face  the  East  and  start  shaking  [himself 
over  his  davenning !  But  let  him  be  like  Moishe 
Nearford,  let  alone  Moses  Montefiore,  and  I  am 
content ! " 

So  it  came  about  that  a  tacit  understanding  existed  for 
the  next  few  months  between  Reb  Monash  and  Philip 
that  the  old  Spartan  devotion  to  chayder  and  shool  was 
temporarily  not  expected  from  him.  It  was  not  in  the 
least  that  Reb  Monash  deviated  one  whit  from  the  ideal 
by  whose  pattern  he  had  determined  to  shape  Philip  ; 
nor  that  Philip  found  one  whit  more  congenial  the  ideal 
thus  created,  an  ideal  so  near  to  Mottele  as  by  that 
reason  alone  to  be  repugnant.  It  was,  to  simplify  the 
issue,  a  state  of  truce. 

During  this  period,  while  Philip  was  reading  for  his  own 
examination,  Harry  was  elected  to  a  scholarship,  not 
indeed  to  the  older  foundation  of  Doomington  School, 
which  was  the  goal  of  Philip's  endeavours,  but  to  the 
modern  Council  institution  called  the  Highfield  Grade 
School,  for  which  Harry's  more  astute  and  vehement 
personality  seemed  to  fit  him  more  readily  than  for  the 
fourth-century  romanticism  of  Doomington  School.  Yet 
only  partly  to  keep  abreast  with  his  friend  did  Philip 
apply  himself  to  hard  reading  of  a  less  congenial  kind 
than  poetry.  It  is  at  a  very  early  stage  in  the  fortunes 
of  Angel  Street  youth  that  the  shadows  of  tailor  shop  and 
grocery  stores  begin  to  cloud  the  dawn.  Before  the 
meaning  of  such  hberty  as  Angel  Street  can  afford  has 
been  grasped,  it  is  time  to  study  the  lines  of  slavery.  So 
early  then  had  the  grinding  fear  of  a  sweated  agony  in  a 
factory  over  the  Mitchen  turned  Philip's  mind  towards 
his  only  escape,  to  further  and  further  schooling,  beyond 
the  boundaries  of  the  Bridgeway  Elementary  School. 
Perhaps  more  immediately  he  felt  that  Doomington 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  85 

School  would  leave  him  free  to  tread  the  primrose  path 
of  poetry.  He  envisioned  such  black-gowned  masters  as 
figured  in  the  adventures  of  Master  Tom  Merry ;  saw 
them  walking  along  groves  academe  hidden  somewhere 
behind  the  walls  of  Doomington  School ;  and  at  their 
heels,  imbibing  the  poetry  these  gentlemen  read  from 
gold-clasped  poets  illuminated  upon  parchment  richer 
than  the  ScroUs  of  the  Law  at  the  Polisher  Shool,  a  crowd 
of  emotional  youths,  who  only  turned  from  poetry  in 
order  to  practise  at  the  nets  or  consume  at  Ma  Pott's 
tuck-shop  illimitable  pastry. 

He  applied  himself  with  fervour  to  French  verbs,  the 
Gulf  Stream,  and  the  vexed  question  of  herrings  in 
barrels.  He  discovered  that  at  a  certain  stage  in  his 
reading  the  letters  on  the  page  before  him  lost  their 
antique  stability  and  began  to  pirouette  across  the  page, 
bowing  their  heads,  and,  in  the  case  of  the  genus  "  f  " 
and  "  g,"  swishing  their  tails  indecorously  ;  soon  every- 
thing would  melt  in  a  mist  of  grey  until  only  by  shutting 
his  eyes  and  relaxing  every  ocular  nerve  he  could  resume 
his  vision. 

"  Father  !  "  he  declared,  "  it  gets  all  mixed  up  on  the 
paper  when  I've  been  reading  a  long  time.  I  think  I 
need  spectacles  !  " 

"  Thou  canst  not  study,"  asked  Reb  Monash,  "  with- 
out wanting  to  be  like  thy  elders  ?  Go  then,  go  !  1  did 
not  want  spectacles  till  I  was  five-and-thirty  and  I  read 
more  by  the  time  I  was  ten  than  thou  shalt  have  read 
when  thou  art  thirty !  Go  then,  go  !  Thine  eyes  are 
well  enough !  " 

It  was  in  the  paper  on  geometry  that  his  bad  sight 
brought  swiftest  disaster.  He  had  solved  one  or  two 
propositions  with  infinite  difi&culty.  He  stared  so  hard 
and  long  at  the  paper  before  him  on  an  indecipherable 
mass  of  angles  and  hues  that  the  danse  funehre  began 


86  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

sooner  than  usual.  When  his  vision  arrived  at  the  stage 
of  opacity  he  laid  his  pen  down  in  a  mood  of  bitter 
resentment.  ...  He  felt  himself  for  the  first  time 
hating  his  father  with  a  conscious  hate. 

The  examination  was  being  held  in  the  Meeting  Hall  of 
Doomington  School.  He  looked  over  the  backs  of  his 
bent  industrious  competitors  towards  the  tall  arched 
windows.  These,  on  their  outer  side,  were  cut  by  a  black 
parapet,  leaving  only  the  upper  half  of  the  windows  on 
that  side  of  the  hall  open  to  the  daylight.  He  saw  dimly 
a  dark  mass  moving  leisurely  along  the  parapet,  now 
appearing  behind  the  windows,  now  disappearing  behind 
the  intervening  walls.  It  seemed  almost  like  one  of  the 
peccant  letters  on  his  paper,  incarnate  in  bulk.  The  long 
tail  wagged  playfully.  Philip  blinked  and  stared 
intently.  It  was  a  large  and  amiable  rat.  The  rat 
disappeared  beyond  the  further  windows  and  left  PhiUp 
staring  blankly.  The  rat  found  the  destination  he  had 
been  making  for  unworthy  of  his  continuous  esteem. 
He  sauntered  pleasantly  back  and  then,  discovering  that 
an  incident  of  more  than  usual  interest  was  taking  place 
in  the  hall,  he  sat  down  on  his  haunches  and  looked  on  in 
friendly  concern.  PhiHp  felt  the  rat's  eyes  looking 
interestedly  down  upon  his  own.  He  could  have  sworn 
that  the  rat  inclined  his  head  with  the  gesture  of  a 
commendatory  uncle. 

"  Never  mind,  old  lad  !  "  said  the  rat.  "  You're 
making  a  howUng  mess  of  your  geometry,  it's  true ! 
If  Mister  Blabberthwaite,  the  geometry  man,  had  the 
least  say  in  the  matter  there'd  be  no  chance  for  you,  my 
hearty.  And  you've  by  no  means  gratified  my  expecta- 
tions regarding  your  geography  paper,  I  must  say.  It 
was,  perhaps,  coming  it  a  bit  thick  to  ask  the  names  of 
all  the  capes  on  the  American  sea-board,  that  I  admit ; 
but  that  wasn't  any  excuse  for  chucking  Flamborough 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  87 

Head  at  the  mouth  of  the  Irrawaddy  which,  if  I  mistake 
not,  is  not  in  America  at  all.  It's  in  Queensland  or 
something  of  the  sort.  However,  that's  no  odds  !  Don't 
worry,  I  feel  a  strong  suspicion  that  Doomington  School 
will  make  room  for  you  yet  .  .  .  although  don't  breathe 
a  word,  or  it's  all  u.p.,  to  use  a  vulgarism.  No,  not  a 
word !  The  truth  is,"  whispered  the  rat,  hfting  a  silencing 
paw  to  his  nose,  "  Mr.  Furness  and  I  have  got  some- 
thing up  our  sleeves  for  you,  something  you  can't  guess  ; 
but  it's  there  right  enough.  Yerh.  sap.,  as  people  invari- 
ably say  upon  arriving  at  my  own  respectable  age.  But 
Esmeralda's  squeaking,  old  chap !  Sorry  I  can't  stay  . . . 
but  these  wives,  you  know  !  .  .  .  Well,  so  long,  so  long, 
and  keep  going  !  So  long  !  "  And  the  rat  resumed  his 
urbane  path. 

It  was  impossible  to  get  down  to  his  geometry  again, 
his  head  was  swimming.  He  rose  and  deposited  his 
papers  before  the  dignified  grey-haired  worthy  at  the 
door,  who,  if  he  wasn't  Mr.  Furness,  the  head  master, 
was  at  least,  surely,  the  Principal  Governor  of  the 
School. 

When  they  placed  the  subjects  for  an  English  essay 
before  him  and  he  read  : 

"  A  day  in  my  favourite  church." 
or 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  Empire  Day  ?  " 
or 

"  The  Place  of  Poetry  in  Cities," 

with  a  shout  of  inner  exultance  which,  he  feared,  would 
lift  the  roof  of  his  skull,  he  realized  precisely  the  good 
fortune  which  Messrs.  Furness  and  Rat  had  been  re- 
taining for  hirf  up  their  joint  sleeves.  He  betook  him- 
self to  "  The  Place  of  Poetry  in  Cities  "  with  a  secret 


88  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

fear  that  the  ink-pot  could  not  possibly  contain  sufficient 
ink,  a  fear  counteracted  by  the  dismal  thought  that  only 
one  hour  was  allowed  him  to  express  his  opinion  upon 
the  subject  o.f  which  he  was  the  prime  authority  in  all 
Britain. 

"  The  Place  of  Poetry  in  Cities,"  he  began  with  anti- 
cipatory ^anacAe,  "  is  so  great  that  it  abolishes  cities  and 
turns  the  mud  rivers  into  rivers  of  silver.  There  is," 
he  continued  with  anti-climax,  "  nothing  Uke  it."  But 
he  soon  resumed  the  tenour  of  his  flight.  PhiUp  was,  in 
fact,  affirming  his  creed,  affirming  the  philosophy  he 
had  attained  after  eleven  and  a  half  years  of  brick  and 
mud,  of  stupidity,  error,  false  ideals,  of  that  living 
poetry  spelled  by  the  half -hidden  love  between  his  mother 
and  himself,  of  that  poetry  in  words  which,  without  this 
living  poetry,  could  not  have  unfolded  her  secrets  to  a 
child  immersed  in  an  almost  unbroken  despair.  His  pen 
scratched  furiously  along.  Too  swiftly,  too  swiftly,  the 
minutes  raced  round  the  rim  of  his  borrowed  watch. 
Frequently  the  green  meadows  of  his  writing  were 
patined  with  flowers  from  the  poets  he  had  discovered, 
Campbell,  Moore,  Tennyson,  Longfellow,  and  when  these 
failed  him,  an  impromptu  verse  from  Philip  Massel 
bubbled  from  his  simmering  brain.  He  was  vaguely 
conscious  of  the  approach  towards  him  of  a  clean-shaven 
man,  with  a  strong,  red  face,  firm  of  jaw  ;  but  clad  in 
such  inexpensive  clothing  as  obviously  to  denote  him 
the  caretaker  or,  perhaps,  the  driUing  instructor.  He 
was  aware  with  a  slight  annoyance  that  the  man  hung 
for  some  minutes  over  his  paper  and  then  very  lightly 
placed  his  hand  on  Phihp's  head.  There  was  something 
quiet  and  fine  and  firm  in  that  gesture.  Perhaps  he 
wasn't  the  drilling  instructor  ?  Perhaps  he  was  a  real 
master  with  a  large  family  and  he  couldn't  afford  to 
wear  brand-new  clothing  ?    What  did  it  matter  ?  .  .  . 


FORWARD  FROM  DOOMINGTON  WALLS  89 

"  so  that  the  chimneys  all  seem  to  be  made  of  gold  and 
the  poor  men  are  like  princes.  .  .  ." 

The  stage  arrived  when  he  could  no  longer  see  the 
lines  on  which  he  was  writing  or  the  letters  he  was  form- 
ing. Still  his  pen  raced  along.  The  tip  of  his  pen  disap- 
peared in  a  mist  like  the  top  of  a  telegraph  pole  in  a 
November  fog.  His  forehead  was  clammy  with  sweat. 
His  forefinger  and  thumb  hurt  horribly.  And  what  was 
that  ?  Some  fool  was  clanging  the  bell !  That  meant 
he  must  stop  !  Oh,  the  fool !  Faster  still  and  faster  ! 
He  felt  that  his  eyes  must  fall  from  his  sockets.  Tears 
of  effort  were  rolling  down  his  face.  At  last !  At  last ! 
"  .  .  .  for  Poetry  takes  us  from  the  cities  of  bricks 
and  mud  to  a  land  full  of  beauty  like  the  night  is  full  of 
stars !  " 

The  dignitary  of  the  receiving  -  desk  by  the  door 
stared  curiously  at  him.  He  staggered  out,  half-blind, 
but  filled  with  a  great  calm.  The  days  that  followed  were 
days  of  a  confident  lassitude.  The  decision  lay  on  the 
knees  of  the  Rat  and  Mr.  Furness,  and  he  was  content 
to  wait. 

When  the  information  arrived  that  Philip  Massel  had 
won  his  scholarship,  Reb  Monash  buried  Phihp's  head 
in  his  moustache  and  beard.  "  Now,"  he  said,  his  voice 
quivering,  "  thou  wilt  be  a  Jew  and  a  Human,  a  credit 
to  God  and  Man  !  " 

Another  matter  of  satisfaction  was  the  fact  that 
Mottele  looked  enviously  towards  him  and  made  deliber- 
ate advances.  And  when  he  went  to  tell  his  sister  Dorah, 
in  Longton,  it  was  surprising  to  find  her  stiff  angular 
figure  bending  down  and  the  hard  mouth  with  strange 
vehemence  kissing  him.  Sixpence  and  a  new  overcoat 
of  a  wonderful  fluffy  grey  followed  from  the  same 
quarter.  Channah  cried  and  bought  him  a  little  volume 
of  selections  from  a  poet  called  Shelley. 


90  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

But  lie  appreciated  nothing  as  lie  appreciated  the  pan 
of  onions  his  mother  fried  for  him,  all  in  curly  brown 
strips  and  steeped  in  butter  ;  and  more  onions,  and  more 
onions,  until  he  had  had  enough.  And  his  mother  looked 
at  him,  and  he  understood,  for  the  voice  that  asked 
for  another  plateful  was  choked  not  merely  by  fried 
onions. 


BOOK  II 
FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES 

CHAPTER  VI 

PHILIP  realized  at  no  earlier  age  than  is  customary 
that  life,  anyhow  externally,  is  a  succession  of 
illusions,  and  that,  if  reality  actually  exists,  it  must  be 
isolated  from  facts  and  days,  this  inner  reahty  being 
governed  by  one  set  of  laws  and  the  outer  appearance 
by  another.  So  that  while  poetry  still  dominated  the 
inner  boy  as  with  a  rod  of  changeless  reahty,  he  found 
it  necessary  to  abandon,  for  instance,  the  old  fancy  of 
Doomington  School  in  favour  of  the  present  fact. 

It  was  a  matter  of  acute  disappointment  to  him  that 
one  convention  laid  down  by  all  his  reading  was  not 
observed ;  for  he  was  not  seized  by  a  group  of  young 
gentlemen  clad  principally  in  Eton  suits  and  top  hats  to 
be  immersed  in  a  stream  which  ought  surely  to  have 
flowed  somewhere  through  the  precincts  of  the  school. 
The  front  of  the  building  solidly  enough  lined  a  narrow 
central  street  of  Doomington.  A  further  aspect,  and  one 
which  seemed  to  conclude  its  periphery,  was  seen  beyond 
the  grassless  ground  adjoining  an  even  older  institution. 
From  no  vantage  were  the  leafy  summits  of  trees  to  be 
seen  and  no  stream  issued  from  any  portcuUised  arch 
in  the  walls.  It  was  the  antique  Mitchen  alone  which 
thrust  turbid  ink  in  any  visible  proximity.  But  what 
secret  bowers  and  what  green  places  were  hidden  beyond 

91 


92  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

the  walls,  some  mysterious  how  contained  in  her  mi- 
fathomed  spaces,  who  could  tell  ? 

He  was  not  ducked  in  some  shy  water.  On  the  other 
hand  it  did  not  approach  his  concept  of  an  awesome 
initiation  that  a  group  of  quite  grubby  boys  seized  him 
and  bore  him,  frightened  but  not  wholly  unwiUing,  to- 
wards an  underground  lavatory  where  palUd  basins 
gleamed  in  the  interrupted  light.  His  head  was  thrust 
into  one  of  these  prosaic  basins  and  water  sent  unpleas- 
antly down  his  neck.  He  was  with  some  solemnity 
declared  then  to  be  fully  a  member  of  Transition  A, 
and  allowed  to  proceed  to  his  lunch  in  the  main  section 
of  this  underground  world,  where  he  sat  on  the  water 
pipes  that  Hned  the  walls,  eating  bread  and  cheese 
timidly.  The  air  tingled  with  the  bloodthirsty  shouts  of 
footballers,  violently  kicking  balls  of  crushed  paper  and 
twine.  A  lady  with  tawny  hair  in  a  corner  of  the  base- 
ment dispensed  Jersey  caramels  to  appeased  footballers. 
Indubitably  the  triumph  of  the  day  was  the  purchase  of 
a  cap,  green,  with  blue  circular  stripes,  crested  with  an 
eagle  invincibly — a  cap  which  proclaimed  to  the  whole 
abashed  world  that  here  was  one  who  was  of  the  world's 
elect,  here  was  one  who  was  no  lesser  a  mortal  than  a 
scholar  at  Doomington  School. 

As  he  walked  home  that  afternoon,  he  took  slow  and 
measured  steps,  so  that  none  should  be  denied  the 
privilege  of  gazing  upon  his  cap.  It  seemed  that  less 
a  thing  of  cloth  texture  sat  on  his  head  than  a  crest  of 
fire.  As  he  walked  along  Doomington  Road,  he  paused 
before  each  mirrored  window  as  if  to  tie  a  shoelace,  and 
actually  to  compare  his  eagle,  to  their  enormous  dis- 
favour, with  all  fowls  in  the  lists  of  fable  or  biology. 
But  a  cUmax,  which  seemed  on  the  whole  rather  to  be 
overdoing  it,  occurred  as  he  passed  below  the  windows 
of  the  factory  where  his  sister  Channah  was  a  button- 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES        93 

hole  hand.  For  the  shrill  bravas  of  feminine  throats 
attracted  his  gaze  upwards  and  there  he  saw  and  heard 
the  clustered  buttonhole  hands  cheering  and  waving 
enthusiastically.  And  before  Philip  had  time  to  lower 
his  blushing  face  a  cloud  of  confetti  descended  upon  this 
youthful  bridegroom  of  our  fair  Lady  of  Wisdom, 
accentuating  his  discomfort  into  an  ordeal  of  shame. 
At  this  moment  a  schoolmate,  not  much  older  than 
Philip,  but  his  faded  cap  displaying  a  far  more  advanced 
stage  of  sophistication,  passed  by,  bestowing  a  sour  look 
upon  the  object  of  this  public  debasement  of  the  mascu- 
line values  of  Doomington  School.  When  he  arrived 
home  his  mother  laid  before  him  a  steaming  plate  of 
soup  which  she  almost  upset  in  her  proud  concentration 
upon  the  eagle-crested  cap. 

"  And  do  you  know.  Mother,"  Philip  declared  during 
his  breathless  repetition  of  the  day's  events,  ''  there  was 
a  man  there  who  put  us  into  our  classes  and  he  was 
reading  my  composition  at  the  scholarship  and  I  thought 
he  was  the  drilling  man  but  he  isn't  really,  he's  the 
head  master,  Mr.  Furness,  and  he's  like  Jupiter,  only 
Jupiter's  got  a  great  big  black  beard  and  Mr.  Furness 
hasn't  and  he's  not  got  much  on  the  top  of  his  head 
either.    There's  a  huge  statue  of  Jupiter  ..." 

"  To  thy  soup,  Feivel !  "  said  Mrs.  Massel,  "  It  will 
get  cold  and  Mr.  Foniss  will  not  come  and  heat  it  for  thee. 
Calm  then,  calm !  "  she  demanded,  by  no  means  less 
aquiver  with  excitement  than  the  boy. 

Yet  it  must  be  here  said  that  for  some  considerable 
time  to  come,  Doomington  School  had  no  serious  in- 
fluence upon  Philip's  real  life.  There  was  of  course  some- 
thing genteel  about  the  atmosphere  compared  with  the 
crudities  of  the  Bridgeway  Elementary  School,  and  this 
demanded  from  Philip  a  much  more  rigid  discipline  in 
the  matter  of  boots  and  ties.  His  master,  he  was  informed, 


94  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

hailed  from  an  Olympian  institution  called  Oxford 
University,  and  for  this  reason  wore  a  sombre  black 
gown  which  would  have  made  of  a  less  imposing  figure 
than  this  gentleman  an  object  to  be  treated  with  remote 
awe.  Mr.  Mathers  was  distinguished  from  Miss  Tibbet, 
at  least  by  the  fact  that  he  did  not  wear  tortoise-shell 
spectacles,  and  from  Miss  Briggs  of  the  infants'  hall,  by 
the  fact  that  the  two  front  teeth  of  his  top  jaw  were  not 
disproportionate.  Yet  Philip  felt  in  his  presence  a  com- 
bination of  the  Briggs  terror  and  the  Tibbet  ennui. 
There  was  in  him  a  monomaniac  insistence  on  the  correct 
orders  of  Latin  sentences  which  produced  the  sensation 
half-way  during  the  lesson  that  the  orders  of  Latin  sen- 
tences and  the  orders  of  the  stars  in  their  courses  were 
of  like  fundamental  gravity.  Mr.  Mathers  presented  an 
interesting  contrast  to  little  Mr.  Costar  who  taught 
French,  and  who  sat  in  his  high  desk  like  a  little  bird 
twittering  on  a  bough.  Twitter — twitter !  the  notes 
came,  in  a  sequence  of  trills  not  musical  but  shrill  and 
frequent.  Yet  sometimes,  and  without  warning,  the 
tree-top  twitter  would  cease,  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Costar 
would  become  glacially  severe,  some  delinquent  would 
be  lifted  in  his  beak  like  a  pink  quivering  worm,  the 
throat  of  Mr.  Costar  would  vibrate  in  the  processes  of 
swallowing,  and  immediately  the  twitter  would  be 
resumed,  twitter — twitter,  shrill,  without  humour.  The 
boys  seemed  no  less  strange  and  unreal  than  Mr.  Mathers 
and  Mr.  Costar.  They  came  mysteriously  from  town- 
ships scattered  round  the  central  and  gloomy  sun  of 
Doomington,  and  disappeared  with  their  daily  quotum 
of  Latin  orders  and  French  verbs  into  the  same  dim 
places,  beyond  the  pale  of  knowledge.  There  was  a 
community  of  Jewish  boys  at  Doomington,  but  he 
seemed  at  once  only  too  familiar  with  their  character- 
istics.    They  were  a  blend  of  Mottele  and  Barney, 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES         95 

Mottele  being  the  predominant  element.  Doomington 
School  lay  outside  him,  poetry  lay  within.  Doomington 
School  did  not  want  him.  He  would  wait.  Perhaps  he 
too  would  some  day  attain  the  heavy-browed  responsi- 
bilities of  a  form  monitor,  might  be  even  the  monitor 
elected  by  the  form  itself  and  not  the  monitor  arbitrarily 
appointed  by  the  master.  But  now  all  these  concerns 
were  beyond  him,  unintelligible. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  rearrangement  in  his  daily 
times  produced  by  the  school  day  was  a  matter  of 
considerable  importance.     It  meant  that  he  arrived 
home  nearly  two  hours  before  the  nightly  session  of 
chayder ;   with  the  consequence  that  Reb  Monash  was 
still  wrapped  in  his  afternoon  doze.    Mrs.  Massel  had 
by  this  time  cleared  away  every  vestige  of  the  mid-day 
meal  and  the  kitchen  was  smelling  delightfully  fresh 
and  clean.     The  brasses   on    the    mantelshelf    shone 
broad  and  lustrous — trays  and  samovar  brought  over 
from  Russia,  and  the  array  of  candlesticks  which  glori- 
fied the  table  every  Sabbath  eve.     The  floor  had  been 
energetically  scrubbed  and  the  windows  so  polished  as  to 
seduce  into  the  kitchen  whatever  light  lingered  beyond 
the  iron  bars.    On  the  sofa  sat  Mrs.  Massel  herself,  in  a 
clean  afternoon  apron,  her  fingers  busy  with  knitting, 
allowing  herself  in  PhiUp's  honour  the  few  minutes  she 
spent  idly  in  a  day  which  began  at  six  in  the  morning 
and  ended  at  eleven.    Mrs.    Massel  was  a  woman  of 
middle  age,  slim,  but  her  whole  body  eloquent  of  hard 
work.    When  Reb  Monash  had  gone  to  seek  his  rhetor- 
ical fortunes  in  America,  before  Philip  was  born,  she  had 
tried  to  combine  the  housework  with  some  form  of 
itinerant  business  ;    the  strain  was  still  visible  in  the 
long  lines  across  her  forehead.    Her  face  was  small  and 
wrinkled  and  superficially  older  than  her  actual  years. 
When,  however,  she  smiled,  the  clouds  of  her  sorrow  and 


96  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

tiredness  seemed  to  chase  each  other  out  of  the  skies  of 
her  face.  She  was  then  wistful  and  childish  as  one  to 
whom  the  world  still  had  all  her  tragedies  to  reveal. 
Her  nose  was  a  little  too  broad  for  the  small  lines  of  her 
face,  and  this  only  added  to  her  smile  an  element  of  the 
elfin  and  unreal,  as  if  she  had  been  instructed  in  some 
wisdom  of  dim  mirth  by  little  people  far  beyond  the 
circle  of  her  recurrent  drudgeries.  This  childlike  sweet- 
ness lay  in  her  eyes  even  in  repose  ;  for  they  seemed 
large  and  luminous  with  some  inner  steady  light,  they 
were  brown  like  hill  tarns  when  autumn  is  on  the  bracken 
slopes  round  them.  On  her  smiling  this  light  seemed  to 
be  broken  into  little  ripples  which  coursed  over  the  brown 
waters  of  her  eyes  ;  but  a  surprise  and  a  doubt  at  no 
time  deserted  them,  as  if  beyond  the  horizon  clouds  lay 
ever  waiting  to  veil  these  brown  lights  with  mist. 

The  love  between  Mrs.  Massel  and  her  son  was  a 
thing  which  never  or  rarely  found  expression  in  the 
usual  endearments.  It  was  a  love  much  more  of  silences 
than  of  speech.  Philip  did  not  like  kissing  her,  as  feeling 
somehow  that  the  relation  between  them  lay  too  deep 
for  the  lips.  It  made  him  self-conscious,  and  of  his  love 
a  duty  and  a  convention  instead  of  the  sacrament  too 
deep  for  any  deliberate  thought.  Kissing  in  Christian 
families,  he  learned  from  books  and  his  meagre  experi- 
ence, was  a  routine,  where  every  member  of  the  family 
kissed  all  others  on  recognized  sections  of  the  face  at 
organized  hours.  From  his  mother  the  endearments 
he  received  were  a  broken  word  which  unwittingly  left 
her  lips,  a  gentle  wind-like  caress  on  the  head,  a  goodly 
something  pressed  secretly  into  his  hand,  or  merely  a 
glance  from  her  brown  and  childish  eyes  which  might 
rest  on  his  own  for  two  moments,  silent  with  sanctity. 

This  concealment  of  their  affection  had  always  come 
naturally  to  them,  though  it  was  found  also  to  be  the  most 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES         97 

discreet  policy.  Reb  Monash  had  long  discovered  that 
the  way  to  confirm  impiety  was  to  cherish  the  impious. 
He  therefore  expected  from  his  wife  that  at  those  periods 
when  he  was  displaying  in  no  mild  manner  his  objection 
to  the  latest  phase  of  Philip's  heathenism,  his  wife 
should  loyally  and  actively  second  his  displeasure.  Any 
manifestation  of  affection  towards  Philip  at  such  times 
caused  him  with  so  little  restraint  to  lift  his  voice  that 
(to  the  humiliation  of  his  wife)  it  was  obvious  that  their 
neighbours  on  both  sides  of  the  house  were  no  less 
participant  of  his  eloquence  than  himself. 

It  was  because  during  a  whole  hour  they  could  sit  and 
talk  without  fear,  that  Philip's  return  from  school  now 
became  the  brightest  period  of  the  day  for  both.  Quite 
quickly  Philip  would  switch  from  the  day's  events  to 
the  latest  poetry  that  had  fastened  on  his  imagination. 

"  Mamma,"  he  said,  "  Listen  and  be  very  quiet.  I'm 
going  to  read  you  something  from  Shelley.  Oh,  it's  a 
lovely  thing  about  a  plant  in  a  garden  where  there  was 
hyacinths  and  roses  like  nymphs  and  about  a  Lady  who 
came  with  osier  bands  and  things  to  hold  the  flowers  up. 
I  say.  Mamma,  I  say  !  " 

"  Nu,  what  is  it  ?    Thy  meat's  not  well  cooked  1  " 

"  No,  no  !  I'm  talking  about  lilies,  not  meat !  I 
wonder  which  you  are  !  " 

"  What  I  am  ?  I  am  thy  mother !  What  more 
needest  thou  ?  " 

"  Which  are  you  ?  Are  you  the  Sensitive  Plant  or  are 
you  the  Lady  in  the  garden  ?  When  tatte  starts  shouting 
you  look  lonely,  like  the  Sensitive  Plant,  but  when  he's 
upstairs  you're  all  lovely  like  the  Lady  !  " 

"  Foolishness  !    Foolishness  !  " 

"  But  then  the  Lady  died,  so  it  can't  be  you,  can  it  ? 
And  so  did  the  Sensitive  Plant,  so  what  are  we  to  do 
about  it  ?  " 


98  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  Of  course  she  died  !  What  then  ?  And  thy  mother 
also,  over  a  hundred  years  !  She  too  !  But  why  must 
thou  talk  about  Death  like  this,  thou  not  thirteen  yet  ? 
Wait  till  thou  art  older  and  thou  hast  a  wife  and  family 
and  hast  married  a  son  and  a  daughter,  then  it  will  be 
time !  But  for  thy  Lady,  she's  only  a  story,  so  of  course 
she's  dead  !    How  else  ?  " 

"  Ah,  that's  where  you're  wrong,  see  !  Shelley  knows 
all  about  it.  He  makes  you  feel  awfully  miserable  and 
then  he  comes  back  right  at  the  very  end  : 

That  garden  sweet,  that  lady  fair. 
And  all  sweet  shapes  and  odours  there. 
In  truth  have  never  past  away  ! 
'Tis  we,  'tis  ours,  are  changed  ;  not  they. 

I  suppose  all  that's  what  Harry  means  by  '  philosophy.' 
Anyhow,  that's  not  the  part  I  like  so  much.  What 
d'you  think  of  this  ? 

.  .  .  Narcissi,  the  fairest  among  them  all 
Who  gaze  on  their  eyes  in  the  stream's  recess 
Till  they  die  of  their  own  dear  loveliness." 

"  What  does  thy  mother  think  of  it  ?  My  head's 
aching ;  what  can  I  imderstand  thereof  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  you  can  understand  it  right  enough  !  You 
understand  it  better  than  I  do,  but  you  don't  want  to 
show  ofi  !  But  listen  .  .  .  Oh,  where's  that  Shelley 
Channah  bought  me  ?  Good,  here  it  is  !  Listen  to  this 
now !  "  And  he  ran  through  another  poem  recently 
discovered.  This  reading  and  chanting  would  take  place 
daily.  Mrs.  Massel  sat  on  the  sofa  bewildered  by  this 
spate  of  melody,  but  keenly  happy  in  the  enthusiasm 
of  her  son.  If  she  ever  ventured  a  "  PhiUp,  but  not  one 
word  do  I  understand !  "  "Ah !  what  does  that  matter  ?  '* 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES         99 

Philip  replied.  "  Do  you  remember  when  I  asked  tatte 
what  good  I  would  do  to  God  by  saying  a  lot  of  prayers 
I  can't  understand  a  bit  about — you  remember,  he  was  in 
a  good  temper  ? — he  answered  that  it  didn't  matter  if 
you  can't  understand  ;  it's  so  holy  to  say  things  in 
Hebrew  that  God  likes  it  just  the  same.  Well,  there  you 
are,  it's  just  poetry !  It's  like  singing,  only  much 
finer !  " 

Sometimes  he  would  get  her  to  repeat  lines  after  him. 
She  might  make  a  feeble  attempt  to  remonstrate  with 
him,  but  saw  that  her  humorous  efforts  made  him  so 
beam  with  delight,  that  awkwardly,  with  an  entirely 
false  distribution  of  accents  and  meanings,  she  stam- 
mered out  her  lines.  It  was  "  Arethusa  "  finally  brought 
this  diversion  to  an  end. 

"  From  her  couch  of  snows,"  said  Philip.  She  made 
an  effort  to  imitate  him. 

"  In  the  Acroceraunian  mountains." 

"In  de  Ac — ac — ac  ...  It  cannot  be,  Feivel.  I 
can't !  " 

"  In  the  Ac — ro — ce — rau — nian  mountains." 

"Ac — roc — Ac — roc — roc No,  Feivel,  my  teeth  ! 

Tell  me  all  the  rest  thyself,  I  will  listen  ;  it  will  be  better 
so  !    I  cannot  thy  croc — croc  !  " 

When  at  last  the  feet  of  Reb  Monash  were  heard  in  the 
bedroom  overhead,  the  poetry  seance  came  abruptly  to 
an  end.  Mrs.  Massel  turned  to  the  fire  to  put  on  the 
kettle  for  his  -pve-chayder  tea.  Philip  regretfully  hid 
away  his  poet  and  turned  to  the  intricacies  of 
algebra. 

Schoolboys  have  an  unerring  instinct  for  the  presence 
or  absence  of  what  at  Doomington  School  was  called 
"  public  spirit."  It  was  in  fact  so  essential  a  part  of  the 
non-material  composition  of  the  school  that  the  lists 
of  forms  which  were  drawn  up  terminally,   a  little 


100  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

invidiously  distinguished  with  an  asterisk  those  hearts 
where  "  public  spirit  "  was  a  constant  flame. 

Philip,  though  his  first  year  was  well  advanced,  still 
came  to  school  somewhat  as  a  stranger.  While  he  him- 
self anticipated  little  the  vehement  passion  which  would 
some  day  absorb  him  into  the  fabric  of  the  school,  his 
form  mates  anticipated  it  far  less.  So  that  the  cold  dis- 
regard for  PhiUp  general  in  the  form  was  in  certain  boys 
concentrated  into  active  persecution,  and  in  Jeremy 
Higson,  into  an  attitude  mournfully  reminiscent  of  the 
Babylonian  Kossacken.  The  spirit  was  similar  but  the 
methods  differed  vitally.  Higson  might  be  standing 
loosely  against  a  desk  when  Philip  entered  the  room 
after  the  luncheon  interval.  A  nail-studded  boot  would 
sweep  like  Jove's  bolt  from  the  void  into  Philip's  rear. 
But  turning  towards  Higson,  Philip  would  find  only  a 
heavy -faced  youth  talking  sleepily  with  his  friends. 
Higson  senior  was  a  mild  Episcopalian  gentleman  who 
had  written  sixteen  pamphlets  to  prove  the  identity  of 
the  Anglo-Saxons,  including  the  Higsons  senior  and 
junior,  with  the  Lost  Tribes.  For  some  perverse  reason 
Higson  junior  was  exceedingly  antipathetic  to  the  Found 
Tribes,  when,  to  be  logical,  it  was  for  Higson  junior  to  rush 
forward  in  consanguineous  ecstasy  to  kiss  PhiHp  on  the 
forehead  and  to  repudiate  his  principal  friend,  Evan 
Evans,  an  indisputable  Celt,  as  an  outlander,  an  un- 
sanctified. 

"  Where  was  Moses  when  the  light  went  out  ?  "  he 
jeered  with  criminal  disrespect.  "  Who  killed  Christ  ?  " 
he  insisted  frequently,  turning  towards  PhiUp  an  eye  so 
baleful  that  it  was  evident  he  considered  PhiUp  an 
actual  participant  in  the  crucifixion. 

"  Out  of  my  way,  you  smog .'  "  he  growled,  realizing 
that  smog  was  a  more  acid  irritant  to  PhiUp  than  sheeny. 
Yet  he  discovered  and  practised  a  more  exquisite  in- 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYIiACTERIES       101 

fliction.  He  knew  that  pig  was  anathema  in  Judsea, 
because  Higson  senior  had  once  made  a  pathetic  effort 
to  veto  this  commodity  from  his  household  in  response 
to  Pentateuchal  inhibition,  an  effort  done  to  nought  by 
the  severe  displeasure  of  Mrs.  Higson  and  Higson  junior. 

Higson  junior  therefore  introduced  into  the  classroom 
the  most  succulent  morsels  from  his  midday  ham 
sandwiches  to  devour  them  in  lengthy  bliss  before 
Philip's  sickened  eyes.  Philip  began  to  discover  little 
blobs  of  ham  fat  in  his  pockets  and  school  bag.  Upon  one 
calamitous  day  he  found  as  he  devoured  the  first  mouth- 
ful of  his  lunch  a  taste  of  unutterable  impiety  in  his 
mouth.  Looking  with  horror  into  his  paper  bag  he 
found  that  its  contents  had  been  skilfully  tampered  with, 
(he  kept  his  lunch  stowed  in  the  pockets  of  his  coat 
hanging  in  the  basement  cloakroom),  and  that  his  mouth 
was  now  tainted  with  the  abomination  of  desolation. 
He  withdrew  on  the  wings  of  disgust  and  scoured  his 
mouth  with  water  for  the  remainder  of  that  interval, 
a  process  he  repeated  impetuously  during  the  next  few 
days  as  often  as  he  recalled  the  dishonour  of  his  mouth. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?  "  Higson  asked  Philip 
one  afternoon. 

"  By  what  ?  '* 

"  Killing  Christ !  " 

Philip  wined  and  turned  away. 

"  I  say,  lads  !  "  Higson  said  winking.  "  Let's  have 
a  lark  with  smoggie  !  " 

"  What's  on,  Turnips  ?  " 

"  Let's  crucify  him  !  " 

A  slight  gasp  of  horror  rose  from  the  Higson  chentele. 

"  It's  quite  easy  !  Let's  first  stretch  him  out  on  the 
wall.  .  .  ." 

Phihp  ran  to  the  foot  of  Mr.  Mathers'  desk.  His 
desperate  eye  had  caught  sight  of  a  large  earthenware 


10^.  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

bottle  of  ink.  He  lifted  it  and  witli  twitching  lips  he 
whispered,  "  Touch  me,  that's  all !  " 

"  You  little  squib  !  "  said  Higson,  swaggering  for- 
ward nonchalantly.    He  looked  round  to  his  friends. 

"  Just  give  me  a  hand,  you  fellows  !  " 

"  This  is  your  job,  Turnips  !  You  bring  him  to  the 
wall !    We'll  do  the  rest !  " 

"  Just  you  touch  me,  that's  all !  "  Philip  said  wildly, 
his  whole  body  tense  against  the  desk. 

"  And  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

"  I'll  throw  this  in  your  face  !    You'll  see  !  " 

"  Go  it.  Turnips  !  "  the  retinue  encouraged.  "  He's 
littler  than  you  !  " 

Higson  looked  round  with  a  growing  expression  of 
despair.  It  was  impossible  to  withdraw.  He  moved 
towards  Philip.  Philip's  arm  shot  forward.  "  Oogh — 
oogh — oogh  !  "  A  great  volume  of  muddy  ink  was 
streaming  down  Higson's  face  and  over  his  light  green 
suit.  "  Oh,  you  bloody  little  devil !  Oh,  by  Christ,  I'U 
show  you  !  " 

"No  you  don't !  "  a  quiet  voice  said.  It  was  Forres- 
ter, the  football  captain  for  the  form.  "  You've  had 
your  whack  !  You'd  better  go  and  wash  before  Mathers 
comes  in !  " 

"  Yah  !  "  howled  the  retinue  with  swift  veer  of  sails. 
"  Look  at  Turnips  !  " 

Bullying  was  one  thing,  in  fact,  and  dirty  blasphemy 
another,  particularly  when  attended  by  pubHc  ignominy. 

Philip,  it  is  true,  was  not  more  beloved  after  this 
incident  than  before,  but  Higson  certainly  receded  into  a 
background  of  smouldering  impotence. 

It  can  readily  be  seen  then  that  Transition  A  was  not 
likely  to  render  Phihp's  old  interests  less  attractive. 

A  new  planet  now  was  beginning  to  swim  into  Sewel- 
son's  ken.    The  planet  attained  soon  the  fixity  of  a  star. 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       103 

The  star  soon  almost  rivalled  the  sun  of  poetry  as  the 
prime  luminary  of  Philip's  intellectual  sky.  The  name 
of  the  new  focus  was  Socialism. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  about  poetry !  "  Harry  declared 
impatiently  one  day.  "  What's  the'^good  of  poetry 
while  children  are  starving  in  garrets  ?,|  For  God's  sake 
keep  it  in  its  place,  like  a  lap-dog  in  a  basket.  I  tell 
you,  PhiHp,  I  tell  you,  there's  nothing  else  but  Socialism. 
Liberals  are  Conservatives  with  their  hands  in  some- 
body else's  pockets.  Conservatives  are  Liberals  with 
their  hands  in  their  own  pockets  !  Chalk  and  cheese ! 
We  working  men  have  got  beyond  'em  ;  we  can  see  'em 
through  and  through.  Dead  Sea  Fruit,  that's  what  they 
are,  all  lies  and  hypocrisy  inside,  and  red  smiles  outside. 
What  did  Churchill  promise  and  how  much  has  he  done  ? 
No,  Philip,  a  good  time's  coming  !    Socialism  for  ever  !  " 

"  But  listen,  Harry,  not  so  fast !  What  does  it  all 
mean  ?  And  why  should  it  knock  poetry  out  like  that  ? 
There  can't  be  much  good  in  it,  if  it  hasn't  got  any  room 
for  poetry,  I  don't  care  what  you  say  !  " 

Harry  glared  for  a  moment.  "  I  didn't  say  that !  " 
he  snapped.  "  I  said  it's  bigger  than  poetry !  It  is 
poetry  !    How  do  you  like  that  ?    Real  poetry  !  " 

The  relation  between  the  boys  at  this  moment  pre- 
sented in  a  lively  manner  their  differences  and  similari- 
ties. When  any  fresh  intellectual  concept  was  presented 
to  Philip,  he  was  constitutionally  distrustful  of  it  until 
he  had  ascertained  its  position  regarding  his  previous 
intellectual  experience.  With  an  unease  which  expressed 
itself  in  a  sort  of  timid  humour,  he  held  back  from  the 
idea,  fearful  of  any  separative  influence  upon  the  current 
of  his  emotions.  Harry,  on  the  other  hand,  was  borne 
away  completely  by  any  new  proposition  which  made, 
through  material  disharmony,  towards  intellectual 
harmony.'  But  he  was  as  instinctively  afraid  of  a  new 


104  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

emotional  enthusiasm  as  Philip  was  hospitable  to  it, 
and  here  he  adopted  the  protective  coloration  of  a 
humour  somewhat  lambent  and  mischievous,  to  dis- 
guise the  essentially  sluggish  setting  of  his  sympathies 
towards  an  enlargement  of  his  non-rational  existence. 

"  Well,  define  it !  "  challenged  Philip.  "  I  know  that 
I  don't  know  anything  about  it  excepting  that  all  sorts 
of  filthy  people  are  called  Socialists.  People  who  get 
full  of  poetry  begin  to  live  a  more  beautiful  life  inside. 
I  suppose  it  ought  to  be  the  same  with  Socialists  !  " 

"  Oh,  there  you  are,  just  as  I  thought !  "  exclaimed 
Harry  rather  shrilly.  "  Talking  about  Socialists,  So- 
cialists 1  What  about  poets,  poets,  if  it  comes  to  that  ? 
You  know  Shelley  was  an  absolute  pig  with  that  girl 
Harriet  and  Cowper  was  mad  and  Tennyson  became  a 
Lord !  What  on  earth's  that  got  to  do  with  poetry  ! 
I  was  talking  about  Socialism,  and  I  say  there's  nothing 
in  the  world  but  Socialism !    That's  what  I  say  !  .  .  ." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  like  this,  Harry  ?  It 
sounds  uncomfortable  !  " 

"  Oh,  ages  !  "   replied  Harry  loosely. 

"  You  said  nothing  about  it  when  I  saw  you  two 
Saturdays  ago.  Not  that  that's  got  anything  to  do  with 
it,  either  !  But  still,  lend  a  poor  chap  a  hand  !  Where 
does  it  all  want  to  get  to  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there's  millions  of  books  been  written  about  it. 
You  know  yon,  couldn't  put  poetry  into  a  word  or  two, 
but  it  means  something  like  *  Government  of  the  People 
for  the  People  by  the  People ' — that  sort  of  thing. 
No  miUionaires  paddling  about  in  fat  motor-cars  and 
boys  getting  consumptive  in  mines  !  No  plush  and 
palaces  for  the  lords  and  sweat  and  a  crust  for  the 
working  people.  No  rotten  old  kings  on  thrones  and 
dying  men  scrubbing  on  their  knees  in  workhouses  !  .  .  . 
Oh,  don't  you  see  how  we  want  it  in  Doomington  of  all 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       105 

places  in  the  world  !  There's  something — what  is  it 
you're  always  gassing  about  ? — which  is  going  to  sweep 
away  the  muck  and  the  chimneys  quicker  than  mooning 
about  with  hollyhocks  !  " 

"  Have  you  got  a  book  about  it  ?  "  asked  Philip 
uneasily. 

"  A  book  ?  Yes,  I  suppose  you'd  better  have  a  book 
to  help  you  along.  I've  got  a  fine  book  all  about  it, 
by  a  chap  called  Blatchford.  Britain  for  the  British^ 
that's  what  it's  called  !  It'll  knock  you  off  your  feet, 
first  read.  Oh  damn,  I've  lent  it  to  Segal !  I  don't 
think  you've  met  Segal !  No  ?  Oh,  he's  a  clever 
devilf  Yes,  I'll  get  it  back  from  Segal  and  you  can  have 
it." 

"  Right !    I'd  like  to  see  what  it's  all  about." 

"  Look  here  !  You've  done  your  homework,  haven't 
you  ?  You  haven't  ?  Well,  /  haven't,  it  doesn't  matter  ! 
There's  a  Socialist  meeting  outside  Ward's  Engineering 
Works  to-night !  They're  thinking  of  putting  up  a 
Socialist  candidate  instead  of  the  lousy  Liberal.  What 
do  you  say  to  coming  along  just  now  ?  " 

"I'll  never  get  home  in  time.  The  old  man's  getting 
a  bit  radgy  again." 

"  Well,  of  course,  if  you're  always  going  to  be  tied  to 
your  father's  apron  strings.  ..." 

"  I  didn't  say  I  wasn't  coming  I  "  Philip  broke  in 
hotly. 

"  Right-ho  !  We'll  go  through  the  back.   It's  nearer !  " 

It  is  almost  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  when  Philip 
came  home  that  night,  his  head  was  clamorous  with  a 
new  gospel,  his  eyes  shone  with  revelation,  his  too  in- 
flammable nature  was  ablaze  !  He  walked  in  unsteadily 
as  if  he  had  been  drinking  a  heady  wine.  He  looked 
towards  his  father  with  a  certain  pity  in  his  glance.  Was 
he  not  too  a  victim  of  these  iniquitous  conditions  which 


106  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

the  fiery-bearded  man  had  described  with  such  blood- 
freezing  fury  ?  Did  Reb  Monash  know  it  ?  Of  course 
he  did  not  know  it !  "  Hapathy  !  "  the  man  had 
thundered,  "  Hapathy  !  'Ere  is  the  henemy  !  Your 
fathers  is  strangling  their  children.  What  for  ? 
Hapathy !  Your  children  is  drinking  the  blood  of 
their  fathers!  What  for?  What  for,  I  ask? 
Hapathy  !    Deny  it  who  can  1  " 

Reb  Monash  was  engaged  in  a  conversation  with  a 
lady  who  had  two  sons  to  dispose  into  a  chayder.  He 
thought  it  discreet  for  the  moment  to  remain  outwardly 
unaware  of  the  sinful  hour  Philip  had  chosen  for  his 
return.  Open  disapproval  would  have  displayed  Philip 
as  no  satisfactory  sample,  so  to  speak,  of  the  paternal 
wares.  He  turned  to  Philip  and  with  a  gentle  signifi- 
cance the  two-sonned  lady  could  not  have  fathomed, 
inquired,  "  Sewelson  ?  " 

"  No  !  "   replied  PhiUp,  "  Socialism  !  " 

Reb  Monash' s  lips  tightened  imperceptibly.  He 
resumed  the  conversation  with  his  client. 

"  Of  course,"  declared  Philip  enthusiastically  some 
time  later,  "  there's  absolutely  no  doubt  of  it !  Shelley 
was  an  out-and-out  Sociahst !  As  much  of  a 
Sociahst  as  that  candidate  fellow,  Dan  what's-his- 
name !  " 

"  You're  right !  Shelley  was  all  there  !  "  affirmed 
Harry.  He  beamed  pleasantly  upon  his  convert.  "  All 
the  decent  chaps  have  been  Socialists  from  the  beginning. 
Christ  too,  he  was  no  end  of  a  Socialist !  " 

"  Don't  know  anything  about  Christ !  "  said  Phihp 
uneasily.  There  was  something  disturbing  in  this 
treatment  of  Christ.  Christ  belonged  in  the  first  place 
to  Russia,  where  they  impaled  babies  in  His  honour ; 
and  then  to  the  Baptist  Missionary  Chapel,  where  He 
was  associated  with  soup  and  magic  lanterns ;  and  to  the 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       107 

CJiristian  prayers  at  school  wherein,  of  course,  Philip 
had  no  part. 

"  Christ  was  a  Jew,  after  all,"  Harry  put  in  tenta- 
tively, "  like  Karl  Marx." 

"  Karl  Marx  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  the  chap  who  wrote  the  big  book  you 
were  looking  at,  on  the  chair  near  you.  I  can't  say  I 
quite  understand  it,  but  they  all  say  you've  got  to  read 
it,  so  I  got  it  out  of  the  library." 

"  Oh  that !  I  don't  Hke  that  sort  of  Socialism,  it's  as 
bad  as  Mathers'  Latin  !  I  prefer  Shelley's.  How  does 
it  go  ?  Oh  yes,  don't  you  think  this  is  fine  poetry  and 
fine  Socialism,  both  together  in  one  ? 

Arise  like  lions  after  slumber 
In  unvanquishahle  number. 
Shake  your  chains  to  earth  like  dew 
Which  in  sleep  had  fallen  upon  you. 
Ye  are  many.    They  are  few  ! 

Isn't  it  fine  ?  " 

"  Whist !  Yes,  that  beats  the  song  we  sing  at  the 
Socialist  meetings — all  about  keeping  the  red  flag  flying, 
eh  ?  It  leaves  old  man  Tennyson  a  bit  husky,  what  do 
you  think  ?  " 

"  Steady  dog,  isn't  he,  Tennyson  ?  Wants  to  take 
his  time  about  it.    Doesn't  he  say  something  like 

Freedo7n  slowly  broadens  down 
From  precedent  to  precedent.  .  .  .  ? 

Doesn't  that  mean  you've  got  to  take  things  sort  of 
quietly  ?  " 

"...  While  mothers  haven't  got  any  milk  for 
their  kids  and  Doomington  stinks  with  corpses  !  By 
God  !    It  makes  me  sick  !    But  there's  no  point  rubbing 


108  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

it  into  you,  you  dark  horse.  You've  been  a  Socialist  for 
the  last — how  many — fourteen  years  ?  But  listen,  I've 
not  told  you  ?  Dan  Jamieson  wants  me  to  get  on  my 
hind  legs  and  say  a  few  words  at  one  of  his  meetings. 
What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  I'd  be  frightened  out  of  my  life.  But  how  does  he 
know  you'll  not  make  a  muck  of  it  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  wanted  to  know.  But  he  said  he 
overhead  me  barging  at  a  lot  of  kids  at  a  street  corner, 
and  he  said  to  himself,  *  that's  the  goods  for  me,' 
he  said." 

"  Gee  !    You'll  start  crying  in  the  middle  !  " 

"  Don't  be  so  sure  !  It  matters  too  much  for  me  to 
start  howling  like  a  kid.  I'm  as  good  as  that  weedy 
fellow  with  no  chin  at  the  Liberal  meeting  yesterday,  any 
time  of  the  year  !  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  talk  about  ?  Will  you  spit 
out  this  here  Marx  of  yours  ?  " 

"  I  saw  Jamieson  on  Tuesday  and  asked  him  what  he 
wanted.  '  Never  tha  mind,  lad  ! '  he  said,  '  it'll  serve 
our  purpose  seeing  a  lad  like  thee  get  oop  on's  feet. 
That'll  fetch  'em.  Doan't  think  in  advance  about  it. 
Just  oppen  tha  lips  and  t'rest'U  coom.'  That's  the  way 
he  went  on.  It  does  make  me  feel  rather  goosy  some- 
times," Harry  admitted,  **  but  I've  got  hopes  in  that 
line,  so  all  I  can  say  is  I  ought  to  be  damn  glad  of  the 
chance !  " 

"  Well,  you're  a  game  'un,  anyhow.  I  shouldn't  like 
to  be  in  your  shoes." 

"  You  never  know,  my  lad,  you  never  know !  " 
Harry  speculated  with  dubious  prophecy. 

Again  some  time  has  passed.  Reb  Monash  sits  up- 
right upon  that  corner  chair  wherein  none  shall  sit 
whether  Reb  Monash  be  asleep  upstairs  or  at  the  fur- 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       109 

thest  limit  of  his  peregrinations — because  **  Respect ! 
respect !  "  he  declares,  "  What  means  it  to  be  sitting 
on  a  father's  chair  !  "  He  is  sitting  upright  and  his  left 
fist  clenched  angrily  beats  the  table  before  him  in  punc- 
tuation of  his  utterances. 

"  Has  one  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ?  A  yungaisch 
of  fifteen,  not  more,  to  stand  up  in  the  market-place  with 
the  enemies  of  Israel  and  talk  black  things  !  That's 
what  it  means,  your  schools  and  your  teachers !  His 
parent,  what  is  he  ?  An  isvostchik  !  I  never  had  any 
trust  in  these  Rumanians.  The  town  rings  with  it. 
Imagine  !  standing  up  on  a  cart  among  the  Atheists 
and  Free-Lovers  and  Socialists !  It's  a  shkandal.  It 
will  bring  his  mother's|grey  hairS  in  sorrow  to  the  grave. 
Sooner  my  sonf  should  in  the  grave  himself  be  than 
behave  like  that  proselytized  Sewelson.  Understand, 
not  a  word,  Feivel !  Thou  must  never  put  foot  into  the 
heathen's  house  !  I  forbid  it !  I  have  had  my  doubts 
for  long.  Would  that  I  had  so  commanded  before  this 
day.  God  knows  what  poison  thou  canst  have  drunk 
from  his  Ups.    What,  what  sayest  thou,  Philip  ?  " 

"  Tatte,  I  can't,  he's  my  only  pal !  I'll  be  alone 
without  him.  And  he  doesn't  do  it  every  week,  any- 
how.   It's  only  this  once  !  " 

"  Never  must  he  enter  this  house !  And  if  thou  art 
ever  seen  with  him,  I  will  break  for  thee  thy  bones,  all 
of  them.  No  more  now !  "  He  brought  the  palm  of 
his  hand  down  emphatically.  "  Chayah,  bring  me  a 
glass  of  tea  !  Tell  thy  son  to  go  to  bed  !  If  not  it  will  be 
the  worse  for  him  !  " 

Philip's  heart  shook  with  resentment  and  grief. 
"  I  won't  give  him  up,"  he  muttered  fiercely  behind  his 
teeth.  "  He  won't  stop  me  !  He  can't!  I'll  be  damned 
if  I  give  him  up  !    He'll  see  !  " 


110  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Heavy  wings  were  brooding  over  the  kitchen  in 
Angel  Street.  The  gas  jet  drooped  dejectedly  as  if 
reluctant  to  light  up  the  scared  faces  of  Mrs.  Massel  and 
her  daughter.  They  sat  side  by  side  on  the  sofa  ner- 
vously rubbing  together  the  palms  of  their  hands.  The 
thin  white  cat  scratched  his  ribs  against  their  ankles  and 
howled  into  their  faces  inquiringly. 

'*  Never  mind,"  said  Channah,  "  perhaps  he'll  just 
give  him  a  good  hiding  and  send  him  ofi  without  supper. 
It's  happened  before,  mother.    Don't  look  so  worried  !  " 

"  Thou  dost  not  know,  Channah,  what  he's  been  saying 
to  me  in  bed  the  last  few  nights.  He  said  if  he'll  go  again 
with  Sewelson  he'll  .shmeis  him  till  he  begs  for  mercy. 
He  said  he'll  keep  him  in  the  cellar  all  night,  he'll  shmeis 
him  till  he  can't  even  cry.  Oh,  what  a  year  has  fallen 
upon  us,  Channah  !  " 

"  I  hate  Sewelson,  it's  all  his  fault !  I  wish  he 
was  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  !  "  Channah  burst  out 
bitterly. 

"  But  it  was  wrong  of  Feivel.  It  was  wrong  to  go  out 
with  Sewelson  again.  I  told  him.  He  deserves  it. 
But  no,  the  poor  dove,  not  ..." 

"  Not  what  he'll  get.  Do  you  know  who  it  was  told 
father  he  was  talking  to  Sewelson  ?  Oh,  the  sneak — 
I  could  murder  him  !  " 

"  I  don't  know  !  I  don't  know  !  It  was  one  of  the 
chayder  boys,  I  think.  But  hush,  here  come  they ! 
Don't  say  a  word  to  him,  Channah,  or  he'll  turn  round  on 
me  and  keep  on  shouting  in  bed  all  night !  Oi,  look  at 
the  child !  " 

Reb  Monash  entered  the  room,  his  face  bloodless  with 
anger  and  cold  determination.  Philip  followed  behind, 
his  hands  sunk  in  his  pockets,  his  chin  on  his  breast. 
Reb  Monash  took  from  the  pocket  of  his  alpaca  coat  a 
long  thin  strip  of  black  hide.    He  sat  down  on  a  chair, 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       111 

and  without  looking  towards  Philip,  commanded  "  Thy 
trousers  down  !  "    Philip  obeyed. 

"  Now  I  will  teach  thee  whether  thou  wilt  mix  with 
all  the  filth  in  the  land.    Over  my  knees  !  " 

The  venomous  strap  descended,  twice,  three  times, 
four  times.  A  swift  catch  came  from  Philip's  throat. 
Again  and  once  again.  Her  whole  body  shuddering 
dismally,  Mrs.  Massel  stole  from  the  room.  From  the 
scullery  came  Channah's  voice,  moaning.  Again  the 
strap  came  down.  A  thin  cry  of  pain  shrilled  through 
PhiHp's  teeth. 

"  And  wilt  thou  again  go  with  Sewelson  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  And  wilt  thou  again  go  with  Sewelson.   Say  no  !  " 

"I  will!    I  will!" 

"  Well,  we  will  see  who  will  prevail.    Say  no  !  " 

"  I  will !  " 

"  I  am  stronger  than  thou.    Say  no  !  " 

For  answer  Philip's  body  rolled  slackly  from  his 
father's  knees. 

"  No,  my  son,  no  !  It  is  not  yet  finished.  Wilt  thou 
say  no  ?    One  word,  no  !  " 

The  strap  whistled  through  the  air.  Remotely, 
brokenly,  Philip's  voice  came  from  far  off. 

"  No !  " 

"  That  is  as  I  thought !  Thou  wilt  bless  me  some  time 
with  tears  in  thine  eyes  for  what  has  been  done  to- 
night. Thy  mother  can  give  thee  supper  if  she  will,  I 
do  not  forbid." 

But  the  crushed  figure  of  Philip  had  writhed  from  the 
room.  Soon  he  was  lying  on  his  bed,  limp,  not  daring  to 
stir  because  each  movement  stabbed  him  acutely.  He 
buried  his  face  in  the  pillow.  He  could  not  think.  He 
could  not  remember.  He  knew  only  that  he  was  a  mass 
of  intolerable  pain.    Yet  he  knew  that  something  hurt 


112  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

him  even  more  than  his  pain.  He  had  forsworn  himself. 
He  had  lost  something.  All  life  was  a  fight,  was  a  move- 
ment forward,  away  from  the  darkness  into  the  places 
of  light.  He  had  forsworn  himself.  He  had  fallen  back 
into  Babylon.  The  dark  was  closing  round  him  and  the 
pitchy  waters  were  gurgling  in  his  throat. 

There  was  a  whisper  beside  him. 

"  PhiHp,  Philip,  it's  Channah  I  " 

Who  was  Channah  ?  A  girl,  a  sister.  She  had  a  rolled 
gold  brooch  with  two  holes  where  diamonds  should 
have  been.    One  of  her  boots  was  very  worn  at  the  heel. 

*'  Go  away,  go  away  1    I  don't  want  you  !  " 

"  Philip,  poor  old  kid,  I'm  so  sorry !  Mother's 
crying  her  heart  out !  Listen,  Philip  !  Mother  sent  me 
up  with  a  cup  of  milk  and  some  cake  !  " 

How  the  pain  licked  round  him,  like  flames.  Sewelson 
was  a  fine  chap,  anyhow.  God,  what  a  wonderful  speech 
he  had  made  that  night !  When  he  came  down  his  face 
was  pouring  with  sweat.  Somebody  threw  a  brick  at 
him.  ... 

"  PhiHp,  well  ?  " 

"  Oh,  go  away,  go  away  !  I  don't  want  anything ! 
Leave  me  alone  !  " 

"  I'm  leaving  the  milk  and  the  cake  on  the  chair  by 
your  bed,  see  ?  Good  night,  kid  !  Drink  up  and  try  and 
go  to  sleep  !  " 

Dimly  he  heard^^the~sound  of  his  father  and  mother 
entering  their  bedroom.  Then  a  long  monologue  fol- 
lowed. It  was^very  loud,  but  his  ears  were  sealed  against 
it.  Pitch  blackness  was  all  round  him,  and  something 
had  made  a  breach  in  the  walls  of  his  soul  and  the  pitch 
blackness  was  flooding  through.  Would  they  all  be 
drowned,  Sewelson  and  Shelley  and  the  big  bluff  face 
of  Dan  Jamieson  ?  He  had  forsworn  Shelley.  The 
image  of  Shelley's  body  tossing  forlornly  on  the  waters  of 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       US 

Spezzia  reproached  him.  Why  had  Shelley  died  if 
Philip  Massel  were  to  forget  him,  leave  him  tossing 
endlessly  on  the  grey  seas  ?  A  melancholy  cat  gibbered 
beyond  the  window,  down  in  the  yard.  Wearily, 
wearily,  the  hours  passed.  He  could  not  tolerate  it. 
With  his  guilt  keeping  his  shoulders  below  the  waters 
he  would  never  breathe  clean  airs  again,  he  would  never 
fall  asleep,  never  awake. 

What  could  he  do  ?  He  must  gainsay  his  disloyalty  ! 
There  was  nothing  for  it.  Thus  only  would  the  forward 
march  from  Babylon  be  resumed.  What  ?  What  ? 
He  started  from  his  bed  !  Repudiate  his  treachery 
before  the  man  in  whose  pocket  lay  dreadfully  coiled  the 
black  snake  ?  There  was  nothing,  nothing  but  this ! 
Else  all  liberty  was  vain,  poetry  was  vain.  Poetry  was 
a  plaything,  not  the  incense  in  the  House  of  the  Lord. 
A  clock  in  a  church  steeple  tolled  once,  twice.  The  night 
was  passing ;  the  dawn  would  come.  He  would  find 
his  soul  lost  with  the  dawn.  Nothing  of  glamour  or 
struggle  would  be  left  for  him. 

Yet  what  could  he  do  ?  Renounce  his  renunciation  ? 
Nothing  less,  nothing  else  !  Vividly  each  stroke  of  the 
strap  was  reiterated  in  his  memory.  Was  liberty  worth 
it,  was  poetry  ?  He  remembered  Harry's  bleeding  fore- 
head where  the  lout  had  thrown  the  brick.  He  inaagined 
the  floating,  sodden  hair  of  Shelley  adrift  on  the  indif- 
ferent waters. 

He  rose  from  his  bed.  It  felt  as  if  he  were  tearing  his 
body  into  strips.  Every  bone  ached,  every  muscle  was 
raw.  He  opened  his  door  and  crept  down  the  stairs  till  he 
stood  outside  his  father's  bedroom.  He  knocked.  His 
father  had  at  last  fallen  asleep.  The  monologue  for  that 
night  was  ended  at  last.  There  was  no  reply.  He 
knocked  again.  A  sudden  and  tremendous  panic  seized 
him.    What  a  fool  he  was  !    What  was  he  doing  it  all 


114  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

for  ?  Why  shouldn't  he  settle  down  and  be  what  his 
father  wanted  him  to  be  and  what  the  masters  at  school 
wanted  him  to  be.  It  was  the  easier  way.  How  easy  it 
would  be  to  gain  the  applause  of  the  Polish  Synagogue, 
the  applause  of  Doomington  School !  On  the  other  side, 
what  ?  Poetry,  Shelley  !  A  swift  agony  of  pain  as  he 
moved  recalled  him  to  his  determination.  Forward, 
forward  !    He  knocked  a  third  time,  more  loudly. 

*'  Yah,  yah  !  "  came  the  startled,  sleepy  voice  of  Reb 
Monash.    "  Who  is  it  ?    What  is  it?" 

Philip  opened  the  door. 

"  It's  me  !  " 

"  What  hast  thou  come  about  ?  " 

"  I've  come  about  Sewelson.  I  said  I  won't  go  out 
again  with  Sewelson  ..."  There  was  a  pause.  The 
boy  heard  his  heart  drumming  across  the  night.  Then 
followed—"  Well— I  will !  " 

He  heard  a  gasp  from  the  bed. 

"  Gott !  " 

Silence,  complete  silence. 

Philip  closed  the  door  and  crept  upstairs  again. 
The  pain  of  his  lacerated  flesh  was  somehow  easier  to 
bear.  A  faint  finger  of  moonlight  pointed  ghostlily 
into  the  room  as  he  entered.  He  made  out  vaguely  the 
milk  and  cake  his  mother  had  sent  up  for  him.  He  dis- 
covered he  was  ravenously  hungry  and  devoured  the 
food.  He  took  his  clothes  off  and  with  great  caution 
hunched  himself  between  the  blankets.  The  moonlight 
washed  over  his  face  and  showed  him  sound  asleep. 

The  truce  was  over.  During  Philip's  first  year  at 
school  it  had  already  worn  a  little  thin.  The  emotion 
of  pride  with  which  Reb  Monash  had  seen  his  son  en- 
rolled among  the  scholars  of  Doomington  School  was 
now  considerably  reduced.     Philip's  second  year  at 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES      115 

school  seemed  by  no  means  likely  to  bear  out  his  father's 
prognostications  that  the  study  of  Gentile  lore  would  so 
work  upon  his  stubborn  brain  as  to  turn  him  with 
warmth  towards  the  Yidishkeit  of  home  and  synagogue. 
Chayder  was  now  out  of  the  question.  It  was  easy 
enough  for  Phihp  to  plead  home-work  when  a  tentative 
invitation  in  that  direction  was  held  out,  and  he  was  now 
nearly  fourteen  years  old,  too  fully  fledged  for  the  com- 
pass of  chayder' s  wing. 

Yet  Reb  Monash  was  certainly  going  to  see  that  the 
boy's  other  duties  were  not  neglected — his  washings 
before  food,  his  three  several  bodies  of  prayer  at  morning, 
noon  and  night,  his  rigid  appHcation  to  the  matutinal 
phylacteries,  his  countless  other  duties.  In  the  degree 
that  Philip's  enthusiasm  for  that  whole  aspect  of  his 
existence  symbolized  by  his  phylacteries  flagged,  a 
process  considerably  accelerated  by  the  distintegrative 
tide  of  Sociahsm,  Reb  Monash  himself  determined  that 
his  son's  feet  should  be  held  forcefully  upon  the  precise 
road.  He  frequently  threatened  a  visit  to  Mr.  Furness, 
an  issue  to  which  Philip  could  not  help  looking  forward 
with  both  pleasure  and  apprehension.  PhiHp  had  come 
into  contact  with  the  Head  Master  on  very  few  occasions, 
during  one  of  which  he  was  soundly  snubbed  for  an 
effort  to  display  to  Mr.  Furness  how  much  more 
intimate  was  his  knowledge  of  Shelley's  philosophy 
than  Mr.  Furness'.  Yet  he  felt  that  there  was  a  faculty 
in  Mr.  Furness  for  seeing  with  those  deep-set  stone-blue 
eyes  so  deeply  into  a  proposition  that  the  difficult 
nature  of  his  case  would  be  manifest  to  him.  He 
felt  at  the  same  time  a  little  discomfort  at  the  thought 
that  the  distinctly  mediocre  position  he  occupied  in  the 
fortnightly  form  lists  might  attain  a  prominence  he  did 
not  desire.  But,  he  reassured  himself,  there  was 
always  time  to  pick  up  in  that  line,  when  he  felt  like 


116  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

it ;  in  the  meanwhile  his  friendship  with  Sewelson  was 
far  more  absorbing,  particularly  when  it  now  became  an 
occupation  which  involved  a  savour  of  the  perils  incident 
to  big  game  hunting.  In  short,  whenever  the  oppor- 
tunity presented  itself,  he  was  in  Sewelson's  company, 
and  whenever  Reb  Monash  discovered  the  fact  he 
received  the  punishment  he  risked. 

Dan  Jamieson  had  received  a  paltry  hundred  and 
thirty-five  votes  at  the  General  Election.  But  he  had 
brought  a  blush  of  intense  pleasure  and  pride  to  Harry's 
cheeks  by  assuring  him  that  to  Harry  he  owed  the  odd 
thirty-five. 

"  The  foak  canna  stand  oop  agin  a  babe  !  "  he  de- 
clared. Philip  was  standing  by  at  the  time,  shyly 
enough,  and  Jamieson  added  kindly,  "  and  I  expect 
another  thirty-five  voats  from  thee,  lad,  next  time  we 
sets  ball  rollin' !  " 

Harry  refused  to  let  his  friend  forget  the  thirty-five 
votes  which  were  due  from  him  to  the  Socialist  cause. 
"  It's  not  enough  for  you,"  he  insisted,  "  to  talk  to  the 
chaps  at  the  dinner  hour.  That's  an  average  of  a  man  a 
month.  I  know.  I've  been  doing  it.  You'll  have  to  get 
up  and  spout !  " 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Harry !  You  know  it's  not  my 
line  !    I*m  not  old  enough,  anyhow  !  " 

"  Fiddle  !    What  about  me  ?  " 

PhiUp's  career  as  an  orator  began  with  a  question 
he  tried  to  ask  at  a  Conservative  meeting,  with  a  mouth 
which  felt  as  if  it  were  dilated  with  an  india-rubber  ball. 
No  one  took  the  least  notice.  After  many  minutes  his 
blush  of  discomfort  faded  away,  but  he  swore  fervently 
that  he  wasn't  going  to  be  such  a  bhthering  idiot  next 
time.  Some  days  later,  when  the  tide  of  a  Liberal  orator's 
eloquence  seemed  to  be  momentarily  checked,  he  burst 
in  shrilly  with  a  long  premeditated  question,   *'  But 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       117 

what's  the  good  of  trying  to  patch  the  roof  when  the 
foundations  are  rotten  ?  '*  The  orator  closed  his  mouth 
with  a  spasm  of  fright.  A  number  of  heavy  democrats 
in  the  crowd  said  genially,  "  Good  for  you,  sonny ! 
That's  stumped  him  !  Yes,  what  d'you  say  to  that  ?  " 
they  shouted  to  the  orator,  "  What's  the  good  of  trying 
to  patch  the  roof  when  the  foundations  are  rotten  ?  " 

"  My  concern  is  not  with  children,"  said  the  orator 
unhappily,  '*  I'm  after  the  vote,  the  men  with  the  vote. 
I  leave  it  to  the  other  parties  to  canvass  the  children !  " 

"  Down  with  him,  down  with  him !  "  a  woman 
shrieked  excitedly.    "  He  wants  to  starve  the  kids  !  " 

"  Where's  the  young  'un  ?    Give  him  a  chance  !  " 

But  Philip  had  withdrawn,  having  tasted  blood. 
A  sweet  music  was  jingling  in  his  ears.  He  had  heard  his 
own  voice  Hfted  in  the  presence  of  a  crowd  and  the 
crowd  had  responded  generously.  He  abandoned 
momentarily  his  ambition  to  become  Poet  Laureate  and 
determined  to  shape  his  course  towards  the  Premiership 
of  the  United  Kingdom. 

Now  and  again  during  this  period  Philip  went  to  have 
a  few  words  with  an  old  Bridgeway  School  friend  of  his 
who  worked  in  one  of  the  coat  and  mantle  factories 
bordering  the  Mitchen.  It  was  an  experience  which 
lifted  his  Socialism  from  a  theory  and  a  somewhat  senti- 
mental abstraction  to  a  clamant  and  immediate  need. 
"  Sweated  labour  "  became  a  phrase  which  he  could 
endow  with  the  actual  physical  associations  it  was  in- 
tended to  conjure.  He  saw  the  men  in  their  filthy  shirts 
spitting  upon  their  pressing-irons  and  the  floor  indis- 
criminately. Their  sweat  fell  unregarded  on  the  material 
below  them.  The  tailors  sitting  about  on  the  littered 
tables  seemed  to  be  more  perversions  of  men,  grotesques, 
than  men  actually.  The  windows  were  fouled  with  an 
opaque  migt  of  dirt  and  sweat.     Little  boys  shuffled 


118  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

uneasily  about  like  subterranean  gnomes.  Girls  cackled 
hideously  after  him,  and  when  the  men  started  an 
obscene  catch  which  lifted  his  gorge,  girl  after  girl  in  the 
adjoining  rooms  accepted  the  sexual  challenge  and 
cackled  in  return.  He  saw  a  thick-nosed  foreman  whose 
waistcoat  glimmered  evilly  with  countless  soup  droppings 
fuddling  his  fingers  in  the  bosom  of  a  girl.  He  saw 
another  girl,  a  recent  recruit,  leaning,  ivory-yellow, 
through  a  window  which  looked  down  on  the  Mitchen 
slime.  There  was  no  reason  why  her  body  should  not 
follow  where  her  eyes  looked  down  so  stupidly.  What 
else  was  there  ?  Nothing  but  the  reeking  room  and  the 
dirty  songs  and  the  swinish  waistcoat  of  the  foreman  ! 
The  picture  of  this  sick  girl  remained  abidingly  with  him. 
When  Harry  turned  suddenly  to  him  one  evening  and 
announced  that  he  had  given  Philip's  name  to  the  Long- 
ton  secretary  as  a  speaker  for  next  Sunday  evening,  at  the 
very  moment  of  dismay  and  revolt  her  image  came  back 
to  him  and  filled  him  with  a  blind  fury  against  the 
ordinances  of  men. 

"  AU  right,  I'U  come  !  "  he  said  thickly.  "  You  know 
I'll  make  a  filthy  mess  of  it,  but  that's  your  fault.  I've 
got  nothing  to  say  and  I  don't  know  how  to  say  it  and 
I'll  just  get  up  and  open  my  mouth  and  shut  it  and  fall 
off.    Good  God,  Harry  Sewelson,  you're  a  pig  !  " 

"  And  you're  a  good  Socialist !  There's  two  first- 
rate  lies.  It's  on  the  croft  outside  Longton  Park. 
But  don't  worry,  Philip,  old  man,  you've  got  the  stuff, 
never  fear !  Sunday,  May  the  something-or-other,  is 
the  date.  Anyhow,  that  doesn't  matter,  it's  next  Sunday, 
at  half -past  six  !    So  that's  all  right !  " 

Philip  carefully  prepared  a  Httle  speech.  He  repeated 
it  several  times  before  his  mother,  assuring  her  that 
it  was  one  of  Antony's  many  orations  over  the  corpse 
of  Caesar.    So  long  as  Philip  did  not  declaim  loud  enough 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       119 

to  wake  Reb  Monash  slie  was  happy  enough  to  listen 
obediently  to  Antony's  denunciation  of  the  House  of 
Lords. 

Next  Sunday  Philip  turned  up  and  sat  below  the 
oratorial  cart  biting  his  nails  nervously  and  recapitu- 
lating his  speech.  He  was  called  upon  immediately  after 
an  emancipated  coal-heaver,  whose  jocosity  had  tickled 
the  crowd  into  unrest. 

When  Philip  rose  blinking  and  with  a  heart  full  of  the 
most  unmitigated  hatred  for  Harry,  a  gentleman  adorned 
with  a  muffler  and  a  slant  Tweed  hat  exclaimed  ribaldly, 
"  Crikey  !  Look  what's  come  1  Johnny,  go  back  to 
your  mummy's  titty-bottle  !  " 

There  was  a  prompt  evanescence  from  Philip's  brain 
of  his  carefully  prepared  speech.  He  was  at  that  stage 
of  nervousness  which  endows  its  victims  with  a  degree 
of  courage  no  ordinary  frame  of  mind  could  conceivably 
induce.  He  turned  fiercely  towards  the  humorous 
gentleman  and  forgetting  completely  his  brothers  in  the 
cause  who  were  round  him  on  the  cart,  forgetting  the 
upturned,  sceptical  faces  of  his  audience,  he  vented 
upon  the  humorous  gentleman  so  turbid  a  stream  of 
denunciation,  dazzled  his  head  with  such  a  storm  of 
rapiers  furnished  as  much  from  his  own  shrill  temper  as 
from  the  prose  of  Blatchford  and  the  poetry  of  Shelley, 
convinced  him  so  thoroughly  that  both  the  continuance 
of  the  House  of  Lords  along  its  bloody  path  of  rapacity 
and  the  putrefaction  of  the  factories  along  the  Mitchen 
River  were  due  to  his  criminal  indifference  and  abysmal 
stupidity,  that  the  humorous  gentleman  straightened 
his  Tweed  hat,  tied  his  muffler  into  a  different  knot, 
buttoned  all  the  buttons  in  his  jacket,  in  the  vain  effort 
to  present  as  different  an  appearance  as  possible  from  the 
humorist  who  had  twitted  the  firebrand  on  his  first 
appearance  upon  the  platform. 


120  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Philip  was  sweating  and  shivering  when  he  descended  ; 
he  was,  moreover,  consumed  with  a  secret  dread  lest  the 
object  of  his  denunciations  should  wait  for  him  in  a 
dark  corner  to  conclude  the  episode  in  PhiHp's  disfavour. 
The  Longton  secretary  shook  Philip's  hand  respect- 
fully as  if  the  limb  were  made  of  a  clay  slightly  superior 
to  his  own.  He  checked  himself  when  he  found  he  was 
addressing  Philip  as  "  sir  "  and  substituted  "  comrade." 
And  Philip,  when  he  descended  the  Blenheim  Road, 
found  himself  booked  to  speak  at  a  meeting  on  the 
Longton  croft  some  time  ahead. 

Philip  instinctively  realized  that  whatever  the  future 
held  in  store  for  him  as  a  speaker  (but,  to  be  candid,  the 
glories  of  the  Premiership  seemed  speedily  to  dissipate), 
his  talent  lay  rather  in  the  field  of  inspiration  than  of 
discipline.  He  knew  (and  this  confirmed  his  orienta- 
tion towards  the  Laureateship)  that  he  would  invari- 
ably be  a  catspaw  of  circumstances  either  for  success  or 
failure,  as  soon  as  he  had  laid  aside  the  pen  for  the  tongue. 
For  this  reason  he  deliberately  withheld  from  the  Book  of 
Pros  and  Cons  for  Debating  Societies  out  of  which, 
as  his  friend  confessed,  Harry  made  golden  capital. 
As  he  sat  again  below  the  cart  on  the  evening  of  his 
second  public  appearance,  he  made  a  strenuous  effort 
to  keep  his  mind  as  blank  as  possible.  Overhead  his 
precedent  orator  was  thundering.  The  sanguine  hues 
of  his  bellying  and  flamboyant  tie  had  already  won  for 
him  half  his  battle.  Who  could  impeach  the  politics  of 
a  man  whose  neckwear  flung  a  defiance  in  the  teeth  of 
sunset  and  whose  eloquence  paled  both  ?  With  a 
consistent  massacre  of  aitches  he  triumphed  across  the 
turbulent  field,  until  at  last,  when  he  ended  with  "  and 
your  children  will  get  down  on  their  knees  and  praise 
God  that  their  parents  took  the  right  path  !  ",  the 
crowd  generally,  and  Philip  in  particular,  were  swept 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       121 

high  and  dry  upon  the  beach  of  enthusiasm  by  the  wave 
of  the  man's  argument. 

It  was  impossible  to  be  self-conscious  at  such  a 
moment.  PhiUp  sprang  valiantly  on  to  the  cart  and 
with  tremendous  effect  his  treble,  like  woodwind 
ardently  repeating  the  theme  of  brass,  reiterated  "  and 
your  children  will  get  down  on  their  knees  and  praise 
God  that  their  parents  took  the  right  path  1  " 

There  was  no  holding  him  back.  Repeatedly  he 
brought  his  left  fist  upon  the  palm  of  his  right  hand  to 
clinch  his  indisputable  conclusions.  The  other  speakers 
on  the  platform  were  shocked  out  of  mere  admiration 
into  submission  to  his  cogency.  Harry  could  hardly 
realize  that  this  was  the  hesitant  young  friend  who 
followed  his  lead  with  such  blundering  perseverance, 
and  who  was,  when  you  came  to  think  of  it,  rather  a 
muff  on  the  whole.  It  was  a  stranger,  small,  ungainly, 
irresistible.  The  crowd  below  stared,  their  mouths 
gaping,  their  heads  swaying  slightly  to  the  rhythm  of 
his  gestures. 

It  was  an  incoherent  enough  medley,  and  perhaps  the 
precocity  of  the  youth  was  more  exhibited  in  the 
uncanny  earnestness  of  his  manner  than  in  the  intellec- 
tual quality  of  the  stuff  he  uttered.  The  crowd  he  was 
addressing  consisted  of  serious  artisans,  night-school- 
educated  clerks,  fihny  half -existent  women,  whose 
mental  development  at  fifty  would  in  all  likehood  not 
transcend  Harry's  at  fifteen,  to  whom  they  listened 
indeed,  not  because  they  were  interested  in  his  crystal 
arguments,  but  because  his  wit,  his  adroitness,  pleased 
them  like  the  froth  on  their  evening  pints.  They  were 
therefore  an  easier  prey  to  Philip's  uncouth  flood  of 
undigested  emotions.  He  attempted,  as  often  as  he 
remembered  this  episode,  to  reconstruct  his  speech,  to 
examine  what  potent  eloquence  had  carried  himself 


122  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

away  even  more  completely  than  tlie  crowd.  He  only 
remembered  the  moment  when  he  returned  to  the  con- 
cluding remark  of  the  last  speaker.  "  Our  fathers,"  he 
began,  *'  our  fathers  have  tried  ...  I  say,  our  fathers 
.  .  .  our  fathers  .  .  ." 

The  crowd  breathed  anxiously.  What  was  happening 
to  the  young  feller  ?  Had  he  seen  a  ghost,  he  was  that 
pale  ?  He'd  been  as  red  as  a  turkey  cock  only  just  now, 
he  had  !  There  weren't  no  stopping  him  a  minute  ago, 
and  now  the  words  were  sticking  in  the  back  of  his 
throat.  It  was  a  shame,  it  was  !  It  was  too  much  to 
expect  of  a  kid  !  Just  like  these  Socialist  fellers  to  put 
it  across  a  kid  once  they  got  hold  of  him  !  Couldn't  be 
more  than  fifteen,  or  sixteen  at  the  most,  he  couldn't ! 
It_^wasn't  good  enough,  don't  care  what  you  say  !  He'd 
faint  if  they  wasn't  careful.  .  .  . 

But  look,  he  was  starting  again. 

"  Our  fathers  have  tried  for  all  they  are  worth. 
Your  fathers  and  mine  have  tried  ..."  The  lad's 
eyes  were  starting  from  his  head.  He  gulped  and  started 
again,  *'  Have  tried,  I  say  ..." 

It  was  as  if  some  spell  of  physical  evocation  resided 
in  his  words.  Whilst  his  lips  were  still  shaping  the  first 
vowel  of  "  fathers,"  something  black  and  aloof  and 
ominous  had  drifted  from  the  vague  towards  the  limit 
of  his  audience.  A  tall  shining  silk  hat,  familiar  symbol 
of  repressions  and  disaster,  threw  a  deep  gloom  over 
against  his  eyes. 

"  Our  fathers  have  tried  ..." 

But  his  own  father  was  here,  whose  love  for  him  was 
like  hate,  and  whose  hate  pierced  at  once  his  son's 
heart  and  his  own.  What  should  he  do  ?  It  was  he,  of 
course  it  was  he  !  Whose  else  could  those  mournful  and 
hostile  eyes  be,  their  orbs  large  with  a  stricken  indigna- 
tion ?     There  passed  across  the  fringe  of  his  stupor  a 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       128 

recollection  like  the  vague  wMte  wing  of  an  owl  at 
dayfall.  Hadn't  his  father  said  something  about  going 
to  see  Dorah  up  in  Longton  this  evening  ?  Why  had 
he  not  taken  warning  and  kept  away  ?  His  father  must 
have  noticed  from  the  road  some  hundred  yards  away 
the  gathering  on  the  croft  against  the  railings  of  Long- 
ton  Park.  He  must  then  have  determined  to  go  home 
through  the  croft  instead  of  down  the  straight  Blenheim 
Road,  so  to  discover  whether  the  proselytized  one,  the 
forbidden  Harry  Sewelson,  was  uttering  his  nefarious 
doctrine  here,  with|Philip,  perhaps,  at  his  feet.  And 
here  he  stood,  his  brow  contracted  with  pent  fury, 
biting  his  upper  lip  !  With  what  dexterity  of  the  sloping 
brush  had  he  stroked  the  silky  fibre  of  his  hat  to-day  ! 
How  white,  deathly  white,  was  the  white  bow  on  his 
stiff  white  front !  There  were  signs  of  white  in  his  black 
beard.  He  was  getting  old,  old.  His  eyes  blazed.  Old  ? 
He  was  young,  proud,  strong — younger  than  his  son, 
young  as  his  race,  the  eternal  child,  the  stubborn 
stripUng  that  would  not  change  nor  grow  though  God 
were  visible,  though  the  hills  melted,  though  the  stars 
cried  across  the  void  "  Lo  !  you  must  change  or  you 
shall  die !  " 

In  this  moment  with  tense  clarity  an  alternative 
presented  itself  before  Philip's  swooning  eyes.  He  might 
withdraw ;  he  had  carried  them  with  him  so  clearly 
that  they  would  let  him  go  with  but  a  sympathetic 
murmur  if  he  stammered  out  that  he  was  unwell.  He 
could  withdraw  with  grace,  and  at  the  same  time  go  to 
meet  the  inevitable  trouble  half-way.  There  discretion 
pointed.    He  must  decide  at  once. 

Or  else,  or  else  he  could  set  the  seal  on  his  victories. 
He  would  not  have  uttered  that  dismal  shout  in  school 
vainly,  he  would  not  have  recanted  vainly  upon  that 
strange  dim  night.    He  would,  seeking  for  courage  in 


124  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

the  very  depth  of  his  spirit,  in  the  very  height  of  this 
sky  where  his  father  and  he  stood  face  to  face,  while 
Doomington  waited,  and  his  race  waited,  he  would 
gather  together  once  more  the  reins  of  his  daring.  Who 
should  withstand  his  horses  ?  Who  should  gainsay  the 
thunder  of  their  nostrils  and  the  death  in  their  feet ! 
Was  it  his  own  battle  alone  that  awaited  decision  ? 
Himself,  he  existed  no  more  !  The  unborn  brothers  of 
his  race,  the  unborn  children  of  his  country,  lifted 
towards  him  their  ghostly  hands.  Do  not  desert  us, 
they  said,  for  in  a  boy's  hand  Hes  the  issue,  and  God  is 
silent,  waiting  that  a  boy  should  speak.  A  boy  was  he  ? 
A  boy  ?  He  was  a  man  amongst  the  men  of  eld  !  Isaiah 
was  by  his  side  !  Dimly  the  exquisite  voice  of  Shelley 
said  to  him,  **  Do  not  despair  1  " 

What  if  it  should  break  him,  what  if  it  meant  he  could 
never  lift  his  voice  again  ?  Yet  his  voice  though  silent, 
his  voice  though  a  frail  boy's,  should  be  voluminous  on 
the  winds  of  the  world,  and  if  his  body  were  cast  aside, 
his  heart's  blood  would  be  red  energy  in  the  hearts  of 
the  cohorts  of  Joy. 

His  figure  suddenly,  with  the  automatic  gesture  of 
the  marionette,  straightened  itself.  With  something  of 
defiance  he  flung  his  chest  forward  and  clenched  both 
his  fists.  A  wave  of  swift  colour  flushed  into  his  cheeks 
and  as  swiftly  withdrew.    He  was  speaking  once  more. 

The  passion  that  moved  the  lad  now  was  too  swift 
merely  for  swift  diction.  He  spoke  evenly,  his  voice  was 
almost  a  whisper.  The  black-bearded  man  who  had 
stood  for  some  moments  on  the  edge  of  the  crowd, 
disappeared.  No  one  noticed  him.  At  last  Philip 
dropped  loosely  into  the  chair  behind  him  on  the 
cart. 

For  an  hour  or  two  that  evening  hardly  a  man  moved 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       125 

from  the  gathering  in  front  of  the  railings  of  the  Longton 
Park. 

"  Come  to  our  house  and  have  some  grub  !  "  said 
Harry  apprehensively  to  Philip,  who  leaned  against 
the  railings,  ashen-pale. 

Phihp  turned  away  wearily.  '*  Go  away,  Harry, 
I'm  done  1  "  He  walked  home  very  slowly,  carefully 
avoiding  the  Hues  between  the  pavement  slabs.  He 
trod  on  the  foot  of  a  dignitary  from  the  Polisher  Shooly 
who  swore  at  him  and  spat  into  the  street. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHEN  the  storm  had  subsided,  Philip  felt  like  a 
sea-battered  hulk,  shorn  of  spars,  incompetent 
to  face  wind  and  tide.  The  muscle  of  his  left  arm  suf- 
fered peculiarly.  Really,  the  way  it  had  been  wrenched 
and  bruised  was  almost  comical.  As  if  his  arm  had 
espoused  Blatchford  and  orated  on  the  waste  croft 
which  his  father  had  so  persistently  misnamed  the 
"  Public  ways  and  the  market-places."  Poor  old  muscle  ! 
He  dropped  his  forearm  tenderly  to  see  if  the  movement 
did  not  circle  the  upper  arm  with  bracelets  of  fire.  He 
took  his  shirt  off  and  licked  the  coloured  wound  with 
his  tongue,  like  an  animal  released  from  a  trap.  He 
stared  into  a  jagged  fragment  of  mirror,  and  seeing  his 
face  so  grey  and  drawn  burst  unaccountably  into  a  roar 
of  laughter.  He  drowned  the  noise  at  once  by  biting  his 
lip  fiercely.  "  The  Romance  of  a  Brachial  Muscle  !  " 
What  a  fine  subject  for  a  long  narrative  poem  in  count- 
less cantos  !  Oh,  by  God,  he  was  miserable !  What  was 
wrong  with  Life  ?  Why  were  Life  and  he  always  at 
daggers  drawn  ?  He  recapitulated  the  sum  of  his 
conscious  crimes.  He  had  once  stolen  carrots  from  the 
cellar,  it  was  true !  But  equipoise  had  been  asserted  : 
he  had  been  rewarded  by  an  ample  stomach-ache.  And 
finally,  when  physical  calm  had  been  established,  to 
round  off  his  state  with  spiritual  calm,  he  had  bought 
two  penn'orth  of  carrots  and  replaced  them  in  the  cellar. 
Also,  he  was  bound  to  confess,  he  invariably  kept  his 

126 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       127 

book  open  in  school  during  the  reciting  of  prepared 
passages.  But  then  the  boy  behind  him  used  his  own 
collar  as  he  himself  used  the  collar  of  the  boy  in  front. 
It  wasn't  really  cheating  because  Gibson  was  such  an 
ass  in  so  many  ways  !  Anyhow  there  was  no  doubt  the 
world  hated  him.  The  world  had  always  hated  him. 
He  had  never  got  on  with  anybody  in  Angel  Street. 
He  had  a  filthy  time  at  school,  and  then  there  was  all 
this  business,  and  oh,  hell !  what  a  rotten  arm  he 
had! 

He  had  determined  against  committing  suicide.  He 
remembered  once  saying  to  his  mother  after  a  row,  say- 
ing with  a  strange  mordant  humour,  "  Mother,  I  think 
it'll  be  happier  for  the  whole  family  if  I  commit 
suicide  !  " 

"  If  thou  what  ?  Speak  plain  !  " 
"  Kill  myself  !  Throw  myself  in  the  river  !  " 
She  had  made  no  reply.  She  merely  went  to  the  sofa 
and  sat  trembling  for  a  few  minutes.  She  said  "  Feivel !  " 
once,  less  with  reproach  than  raw,  ugly  pain.  AU  that  day 
she  did  her  housework  unsteadily  and  said  not  a  word  to 
PhiHp.  He  hadn't  hked  it.  No,  it  was  better  not  to 
commit  suicide.  It  savoured  too  imitatively,  moreover, 
of  the  Mighty  Atom,  whom  he  had  disliked.  Then, 
in  addition,  the  wife  of  somebody  the  watchmaker  had 
recently  tried  it  and  succeeded.  She  obviously  could 
have  reaped  no  satisfaction  from  the  episode.  If  only  he 
could  die  accidentally !  Would  even  that  make  his  father 
sorry  for  his  abominable  treatment  I  The  youthful 
corpse  would  lie  on  the  parlour  floor  under  a  black  cloth 
and  everybody  would  sympathize  frightfully  with  his 
mother  and  be  pointedly  chilly  towards  Reb  Monash. 
Wouldn't  he  be  sick  about  it !  Wouldn't  he  ask  God 
for  another  chance  to  behave  like  a  decent  sort  of 


128  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

father,  but  all  to  no  use !  There  would  be  his  son's 
pale  and  romantic  corpse  lying  stately  beneath  the  cloth, 
with  candles  and  things  about.  *'  Easeful  Death,"  one 
of  the  poets  said  somewhere.  That  wasn't  half  strong 
enough.  It  was  a  triumph,  a  pageant !  But  it  meant 
being  carted  off,  didn't  it,  to  the  cold  ground  somewhere, 
and  the  weepers  would  go  away  and  the  candles  be 
extinguished,  and  the  rain  would  come  down,  and  the 
cofiSn  be  sodden  and  fall  away !  That  was  where  the 
worm-element  came  in,  and  with  the  worm-element  he 
could  pretend  no  sympathy  ;  "  where  the  worm  became 
top-dog,"  as  he  had  once  brilliantly  said  in  comment 
upon  "  And  the  play  is  the  Tragedy,  Man — the  hero, 
the  Conqueror — Worm  !  " 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  idea  of  running  away 
occurred  to  him.  He  had  lately  been  reading  the  trium- 
phant career  of  a  runner-away.  Harry  had  once  recom- 
mended running  away,  sceptically  enough,  but  it  would 
be  tremendously  interesting  to  take  his  casual  advice 
seriously.  He  was  quite  definitely  conscious  how  melo- 
dramatic the  idea  was,  and  just  as  conscious  that  he  had 
already  decided  on  its  execution.  The  fellow  in  the  book 
had  performed  no  end  of  valiant  deeds  in  fires,  ship- 
wrecks and  revolutions.  It  was  a  thin  book,  duller  even 
than  Mr.  Henty,  whom  he  had  long  ago  discarded.  Of 
course,  he  was  not  going  to  be  taken  in  by  that  sort  of 
thing,  but  any  proposal  was  more  satisfactory  than  the 
shoutings  and  the  bruised  arms  of  which  his  life  now 
was  constituted. 

It  was  settled !  He  was  going  to  run  away  !  When  ? 
Obviously  now,  at  once  !  There  was  no  point  in  to- 
morrow. To-morrow  would  be  like  yesterday.  It  was 
evening  now.  He'd  set  out  and  by  the  time  night  came 
.  .  .  Oh,  there  wasn't  any  need  to  worry  about  it ! 
Something  would  happen.    Something  always  happened, 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       129 

Yet  everything  was  rather  frighteningly  vague.  Was 
there  any  need  to  carry  anything  off  with  him  1  Doubt- 
less it  would  be  more  independent  and  proud  to  go 
just  as  he  was,  and  he  wouldn't  need  an  overcoat  for 
months.  Oh  yes,  he  might  as  well  stick  that  Shelley 
in  his  pocket.  He  would  finish  the  "  Revolt  of  Islam," 
though  he  had  tried  three  times  already.  He  hfted  his 
injured  arm  to  reach  the  book  and  dropped  it  again, 
wincing.  He  sat  down  before  his  rickety  table,  and 
wrote  a  brief  note  to  his  mother,  slipped  it  into  an 
envelope  and  descended  into  the  kitchen.  He  looked 
mournfully  and  significantly  upon  his  mother,  murmur- 
ing to  himself  bitterly,  "  If  she  only  knew  !  "  He  felt 
a  disgraceful  impulse  to  utter  a  loud  howl  of  remorse,  but 
manfully  repressed  it  and,  realizing  that  each  moment  in 
the  kitchen  endangered  his  resolution,  went  to  the  door. 
As  he  closed  the  door  behind  him,  he  dropped  the  en- 
velope through. 

He  carefully  examined  his  feelings.  He  was  running 
away,  wasn't  he  ?  It  was  the  most  dramatic  moment  in 
all  his  life.  There  had  been  psychological  crises  before, 
but  here  was  something  palpable,  dramatic.  He  was 
putting  himself  into  immediate  communion  with  some  of 
the  choicest  spirits  of  history  or  legend.  Not  many  other 
chaps  dared  do  this  sort  of  thing.  Then  why  on  earth 
wasn't  he  more  excited  about  it  ?  His  heart  ought  to 
be  storming  valiantly,  but  its  workings  seemed  to  respect 
their  usual  method  and  speed.  He  only  felt  a  little 
dazed  and  stupid.  He  was  under  the  ridiculous  im- 
pression he  was  only  acting !  That  was  absurd,  at  such 
a  crisis  I  The  vague,  the  vast,  into  which  he  was  adven- 
turing, were  not  merely  uninviting,  they  were,  in  some 
inexplicable  fashion,  not  even  there.  Home  and  his 
father  and  his  mother  and  his  arm,  all  these  were  reali- 
ties enough,  and  the  only  realities.    But  this  running 


130  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

away,  upon  which  at  this  very  moment  he  was 
actually  embarked,  was  a  thin  dream.  And  here  was 
another  reality,  here  was  Channah  coming  down  the 
street. 

"  Good-bye,  Channah  !  "  he  said  darkly. 

"  You're  not  off  to  a  meeting  ?  "  she  ventured  con- 
fidently. 

"  Oh  no  !  Oh  no  !"  he  replied  gloomily.  She  walked 
on.  It  was  necessary  to  be  moving.  She  would  probably 
find  the  note  and  the  finding  would  lead  to  immediate 
results.  He  ran  along  into  Doomington  Road,  and  almost 
mechanically  turned  up  into  Blenheim  Road.  They'd 
not  know  which  way  he  was  going,  he  needn't  fear  that. 
He  slowed  down  and  sauntered  along.  Where  the  devil 
should  he  go  now  ?  that  question  ought  to  be  decided. 
His  mind  was  torpid.  No  sooner  was  the  question 
formulated  than  it  passed  from  his  mind.  Somebody 
was  gesticulating  to  a  crowd  on  the  croft.  Aimlessly 
he  turned  in  that  direction.  They  were  talking  about 
Tariff  Reform,  statistics,  Poor  Laws,  molasses  and 
things.  He  lacked  the  resolution  to  go  further,  so  he 
stood,  neither  listening  nor  thinking,  just  dull,  dimly 
unhappy. 

He  felt  an  arm  slip  round  his  neck.  An  anguished 
voice  said,  "  Philip,  don't  be  such  a  donkey  !  Mother's 
half -mad  with  worry,  you  meshugener  f  Is  this  your 
idea  of  a  joke,  you  little  fool  ?  " 

Channah  must  have  realized  which  way  his  steps 
would  instinctively  turn. 

PhiHp  threw  the  arm  off  and  turned  to  a  dishevelled 
Channah.  "  I'm  not  a  fool !  I'm  dead  sick  of  him  and 
'm  going  to  get  out  of  it !  " 

"  Where  ?  "   she  asked. 

"  Anywhere  !  "   he  exclaimed  desperately. 

"  Come  on  now,  there's  a  good  lad  !  "    She  got  hold 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       181 

of  his  arm.  "  He'll  not  know  anything  about  it  if  you 
come  at  once  !  " 

"  I  want  him  to  know !  Let  go !  Oh,  you  wont, 
wont  you  ?  There  !  "  He  wrenched  his  arm  free.  He 
fled  along  the  croft  and  found  his  sister  following  in 
forlorn  pursuit.  When  he  had  put  a  safe  distance  be- 
tween them  he  turned  round.  Channah  was  standing, 
wringing  her  hands,  and  her  hair,  escaped  from  her  combs 
and  pins,  flew  about  her  head.  It  made  him  feel  an 
unutterable  scoundrel.  He  knew  that  he  was  acting  like 
a  fool  and  a  blackguard  !  "  Come  home,  Philip,  oh,  do 
come  home  !  "  her  voice  shrilled. 

But  he  couldn't.  He  had  a  little  dignity  after  all. 
He  was  getting  on  in  life  and  it  was  about  time  he  could 
think  out  and  pursue  his  own  plan  of  campaign. 

*'  I  can't !  "  he  said.  "  Give  Mother  my  love  ! 
Good-bye  !  Tell  her  it's  not  my  fault !  "  he  insisted 
anxiously.    "  Good-bye  !  " 

He  foUowed  up  the  road  and  left  Channah  standing 
blankly.  Definitely  he  was  running  away.  An  almost 
complete  numbness  now  gripped  his  brain.  He  had 
a  faint  idea  of  getting  out  into  the  country  but 
he  found  himself  penetrating  deeper  and  deeper  into 
the  town.  Night  was  gathering  thickly  over  Dooming- 
ton.  He  felt  too  stupid  even  to  be  aware  of  his  hunger. 
For  hours  and  hours,  it  seemed,  he  walked  through  the 
dark  streets.  Indifferent  people  jostled  him  into  the 
roadway.  Every  now  and  again  he  found  his  journeying 
had  brought  him  before  the  same  ugly  squat  little  church. 
He  must  get  out  of  this.  He  turned  of!  in  a  direction  he 
was  certain  he  had  not  pursued  before.  He  found  him- 
self in  a  murky  hidden  square,  with  feet  heavy  as  blocks 
of  stone.  Blocks  of  stone  seemed  to  be  tugging  his 
eyelids  down  to  close  over  his  eyes.  He  was  suddenly 
aware  of  a  tremendous  need  of  sleep.    There  was  a  form 


132  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

in  the  flagged  path  which  led  through  the  square.  A 
man  and  a  woman  were  sitting  very  close  together  on  it ; 
but  there  was  room  for  him.  He  threw  himself  down  and 
his  head  fell  immediately  upon  his  chest.  He  pluDged 
at  once  into  a  tired  sleep.  When  he  awoke,  it  was  v^ry 
dark  and  quiet.  He  remembered  that  there  had  been 
a  man  and  a  woman  beside  him,  but  they  had  moved 
away  !  What  was  it  he  was  doing  here  ?  Of  course, 
he'd  run  away !  What  a  thick  heavy  business  it  was, 
running  away  !  How  many  hours  ago  was  it  since  he  had 
started?  Nothing  had  happened  yet.  Nothing.  He  just 
felt  foolish  and  extremely  miserable.  Well,  he  must  keep 
going  till  something  did  happen.  As  he  rose,  he  heard 
the  bell  in  the  steeple  over  him  toll  hollowly.  One 
o'clock  !  Oh,  the  desolate  hour !  Somewhere  deep  in 
Doomington,  alone,  hungry,  tired,  at  one  o'clock ! 
He  shuffled  wearily  from  the  square  and  up  through  one 
or  two  towering  and  narrow  streets.  He  heard  a  man 
prowling  about  in  a  doorway.  His  heart  stood  still 
with  terror.  Steps  came  forward  and  a  lantern  sur- 
rounded him  with  ghostly  light.  A  policeman  peered 
suspiciously  into  his  face  and  lumbered  on.  Here  was  a 
main  road.  How  wide  and  lonely  and  terrible  it  was  ! 
He  dared  not  stand  still,  the  policeman  would  come 
after  him  and  ask  questions  which  he  would  not  be  able 
to  answer.  He  must  keep  moving,  moving,  God  knew 
where,  but  moving.  His  feet  made  an  alarming  sound 
on  the  deserted  pavements.  Oh,  what  was  he  doing 
here  1  Why  hadn't  he  waited  till  he  got  some  money 
from  somewhere,  somehow,  before  he  ran  away  ?  How 
formidably  the  doorways  were  barred  against  him  ! 
The  plate-glass  windows  stared  leering  with  baleful 
eyes.  Some  one  had  moved  from  a  side  street  into  the 
main  road  and  was  coming  towards  him.  A  lady  it  was. 
A  real  lady  too,  she  seemed,  as  she  came  nearer  and  he 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       183 

saw  the  opulent  nature  of  her  clothing.  Her  skirts 
swished  richly.  There  was  a  feather  bobbing  over  the 
side  of  her  hat.  Channah  had  only  one  feather  which 
she  kept  securely  from  year  to  year,  dyeing  it  occasion- 
ally. There  were  three  feathers  in  the  lady's  hat. 
What  was  she  doing  out  just  now  ?  She  couldn't 
possibly  be  running  away,  like  himself.  She  was  rather 
fat,  she  ought  to  be  quite  a  decent  sort.  She  introduced 
a  sense  of  companionship  into  the  appalling  void  of 
night.  Joy !  She  had  stopped  and  was  talking  to 
him  ! 

"  Well,  cockie  !  "  she  said,  "  it's  rather  late  for  a  little 
'un!" 

*'  Yes,  ma'am  !  "  he  said  respectfully. 

"  Haven't  you  got  a  home  1  You  look  all  right, 
your  clothes  and  that !  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  got  a  home  !  " 

'*  'Xcuse  my  asking  like,  but  why  aren't  you  in  it  ? 
It's  gone  two,  you  know  !  " 

"  Well,  because  .  .  .  it's  because  ...  I  ...  I  mean, 
he  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  I  understand,  cockie !  "  she  said  kindly.  "  He's 
been  and  gone  and  chucked  you  out  like,  eh  ?  " 

"  He  hasn't  chucked  me  out !  "  declared  Philip 
hotly.  "  I've  chucked  myself  out.  I've  run  away  from 
home !  " 

"  Phew  !  "  she  whistled.  "  That's  the  ticket,  eh  ? 
You're  a  plucked  'un !  But  what  are  you  going  to  do 
now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.    Just  walk,  I  suppose.    I'll  see  !  " 

**  I  like  you,  sonnie,  I  like  your  voice.  Let's  keep  on, 
it'll  never  do  to  stand  in  one  place,  they  don't  like  it. 
Just  come  to  the  lamp  there.  I'd  like  to  look  at 
you!" 

He  found  that  a  large,  warm,  somewhat  flabby  hand 


184  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

had  taken  his  own.  They  walked  together  to  a  lamp. 
His  friend  got  hold  of  his  forehead  with  one  hand  and 
his  chin  with  the  other,  and  exposed  his  face  to  the  falling 
lamplight.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  lady's  face  above 
the  heavy  chain  of  rolled  gold  that  lay  on  her  bosom. 
Her  face  was  pallid  round  the  fringes  of  the  cheeks  and 
on  the  tip  of  her  nose,  and  by  contrast,  her  cheeks  were 
singularly  red.  Her  lips  too  were  red,  quite  unhke  the 
red  of  Channah's  lips  and  his  mother's.  It  was  a  sleepy, 
fat  face,  rather  kindly.  There  was  something  strange 
about  her  eyes,  something  like — well,  funny  eyes,  any- 
how !  Hungry  eyes  they  were,  a  little  wild,  yet  they 
were  sleepy  and  kind,  too.  Surely  her  breatn  didn't 
smell  the  least  bit  of  beer  ?  No,  not  such  a  thoroughly 
estimable  lady  !  Perhaps  it  was  beer  .  .  .  the  poor 
lady  had  to  take  for  her  health  ? 

"  Sonnie  !  "  she  said.  "  You've  been  having  a  heavy 
time,  eh  ?  Poor  kid  !  You've  got  nice  eyes,  you  know  ! 
Be  careful  what  you  do  with  'em.  It  was  eyes  like  yours 
what  did  for  Bertha.  Poor  Bertha  !  She  was  a  slim 
lass  once.  Prayer  Book  and  all,  and  parasol  on  Sundays, 
all  complete  1  " 

"  Who's  Bertha,  please  ?  " 

"  Hush,  sonnie,  hush,  I'm  talking  !  Bertha  ?  Don't 
tell  Reginald — I'm  Bertha  !  He  wasn't  a  big  feller 
neither,  what  done  her  in  !  And  it  wasn't  for  money, 
anyways,  1  can  tell  you.  Love  it  was,  and  it  isn't  all 
the  girls  can  say  that !  And  he  went  with  his  lips  this 
way  and  with  his  eyes  that  way,  and  where  was  you  ? 
Yes,  he  had  eyes  just  like  yours,  Arthur  !  Your  name 
is  Arthur,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  No,  my  name's  Philip  !  " 

"  Oh,  we  are  a  gentleman,  aren't  we  ?  *  No,  my  name's 
Philip  ! '  Haw  !  haw  !  Your  name's  not  Philip,  see  ? 
Your  name's  Arthur !    What's  good  enough  for  him  is 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       135 

good  enough  for  you,  Arthur.  So  there,  Arthur !  .  .  . 
I'm  sorry,  kid,  I'm  not  laughing  at  you.  You  see,  I'm 
feeUng  all  funny  like.  ..."  She  passed  the  back  of 
her  hand  across  her  forehead.  A  big  bead  of  clammy 
sweat  was  thrust  backward  into  the  maze  of  her  yellow- 
ish hair.  *'To  tell  you  the  honest,  Arthur,"  she 
whispered,  leaning  over  towards  the  boy,  "he's  been 
and  pitched  me  out !  "  She  lifted  her  voice.  ''  Pitched 
me  out,  he  has,  the  dii-ty  heathen,  at  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning !  After  all  the  times  we've  had  together. 
Scarborough  !  Oh,  Scarborough  !  The  waiters  stand 
round  you  and  says  '  Lobster,  ma'am,  with  hock  ?  ' 
poHte  as  polite  !  And  here  am  I  !  Not  good  enough 
for  the  likes  of  him,  ain't  I  ?  I'll  show  him  up  !  Pitched 
me  out.  ..."  She  took  a  fluffy  handkerchief  from  the 
depths  of  her  blouse  and  tapped  each  eye. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  PhiHp  with  uneasy  polite- 
ness, "  have  you  had  to  leave  home  too  ?  " 

"  Home,  sonnie,  home  ?  I've  got  a  home  !  Oh,  it's 
all  right  about  my  home  !  But  now  and  again  a  night 
out,  eh,  is  the  goods  for  Bertha  !  I'm  one  of  the  girls  ! 
I'm  a  bird !  I'm  not  too  particular  about  my  perch, 
though  I  have  got  a  Uttle  perch  of  my  own  !  But  I  was 
.  .  .  hello  !  Some  one's  coming  !  Can  you  see  who  it 
is  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip.    **  It's  a  policeman,  I  think  !  " 

She  whispered  into  his  ear  anxiously.  *'  Listen,  I'm 
going  to  be  your  ma  when  he  comes  up,  if  he  asks  things. 
Understand  ?  You've  got  the  sick  sudden,  and  I  thought 
a  walk  would  settle  your  stomach.    Now.  .  .  ." 

The  policeman  advanced  and  halted.  "  Hello, 
missus  !  "  he  said,  "  Burglars  or  what  ?  " 

"No,  constable,"  replied  the  lady  with  quiet  dignity, 
"  my  poor  Arthur's  got  a  touch  of  the  coHc  so  I  thought 
it  best  to  give  him  a  breath  of  air  like."    She  was  wiping 


186  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Philip's  forehead  with  the  little  handkerchief.  "  Are 
you  feeling  better  now,  Arthur  boy  ?  " 

"  Best  go  and  stow  him  between  the  sheets,  lady. 
He'll  catch  his  death  in  the  damp  air,"  the  policeman 
growled  amiably,  and  walked  away. 

The  situation  was  altogether  so  inexplicable  that 
Philip  clutched  feebly  after  the  expression  "  I'm  a 
bird  !  "  as  a  clue  which  might  perhaps  lead  him  through 
the  maze. 

"A  bird?"  he  asked.  "Do  you  mean  you  sell 
birds  ? " 

"  Now  you  are  a  funny  kid.  No,  I  don't  sell  birds. 
Leastwise,  I  only  sell  one  bird.  See  ?  That's  a  joke  like. 
Ec,  Arthur,  but  I  did  feel  all  goosy  when  that  police- 
man came,  didn't  you  ?  My  heart's  going  Kke  a  pen- 
dulick  yet,  up  and  down,  down  and  up.  Well,  I  hopes 
your  kidneys  are  better,  anyhow.  But  you  do  look  pale, 
kid !  Anything  wrong !  How  old  did  you  say  you 
was  ?  Fourteen  and  a  half  ?  So  am  I,  next  birth- 
day, ha,  ha  !  Fourteen  and  a  half !  What  must  it 
be  Hke  to  have  a  kid  fourteen  and  a  half  ?  Sometimes 
I  wishes  ..." 

"  Have  you  got  no  children  yourself,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  asking  me  questions,  Arthur  ? 
An  honest  woman  like  me  !  If  it  hadn't  been  for  you, 
Arthur,  and  that  time  you  kissed  me  under  the  mul- 
berry tree  .  .  .  Remember  ?  Oh  kid,  kid,  I'm  all  sort 
of  melted  inside  !  Is  your  mother  still  living  ?  She 
is,  is  she  ?  Does  she  ever  kiss  you,  Arthur  ?  Here,  like 
this,  on  your  lips  .  .  .  like  this  .  .  .  like  this  .  .  .  Oh, 
my  Arthur  boy  !  " 

She  had  seized  him  round  the  shoulders.  Her  great 
soft  lips  were  hungrily  raining  kisses  on  his  own.  And  her 
breath  smelt  beerily. 

"  Let  me  go  !  "  he  shouted  with  sudden  fright.    "  Who 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES        137 

are  you  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  "  He  broke  away  and 
rubbed  his  lips  savagely  with  his  sleeve. 

She  was  mopping  large  tears  from  her  eyes.  *'  Oh, 
I'm  lonely,  I'm  so  lonely  !  "  she  moaned.  "  He's  gone 
and  pitched  me  out  and  here's  Arthur,  and  he  shakes  me 
off  like  a  dog.  Why  ever  was  I  born,  God  help 
me !  " 

A  swift  intense  pang  gripped  Philip's  stomach.  He 
staggered  against  the  wall.  Globes  of  red  fire  juggled 
before  his  eyes. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  I  didn't  mean  anything  !  " 
the  woman  exclaimed  with  alarm.  "  Tell  me  what's 
wrong !  " 

"  I'm  .  .  .  I'm  .  .  .  hungry !  .  ,  ."  moaned  Philip. 

"  Hungry  ?    When  did  you  last  have  a  bite  ?  " 

"  Dinner-time !  " 

*'  And  what  have  you  been  doing  since  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  !    I'm  only  hungry  !  " 

*'  Oh,  poor  dove,  poor  dove  !  Hungry  are  you  ?  And 
here  was  me  standing  and  you  hungry  and  standing  I 
was  and  talking,  talking.  Come  to  his  own  Bertha's. 
Come  to  my  little  perch,  Arthur,  sonnie,  and  I'll  soon 
set  you  right.  What  about  a  rasher,  eh,  and  some  new 
bread  and  butter  and  a  cup  of  strong  hot  tea  ?  I'll  put 
him  on  his  little  feet  again !  This  way,  sonnie  .  .  .  Lord 
God,  what  a  life  is  Bertha's !  It  ain't  far.  It's  just 
beyond  the  church  straight  along  and  the  second  to  the 
left  .  .  .  unsteady  on  his  legs,  he's  that  hungry  .  .  .  ! 
Come  with  Bertha  !  " 

Again  Philip's  hand  was  enclosed  in  the  hand  of  the 
lady.  Nothing  in  the  world  mattered  except  that  strong 
hot  cup  of  tea,  that  bread  and  butter,  that  rasher, 
whatever  a  rasher  was  !  As  they  walked  through  the 
empty  streets,  the  kettle  boiled  before  him  on  a  fire  of 
mirage,  the  slaver  of  his  hunger  rimmed  his  tongue, 


138  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

the  "  rasher  "  was  frying  ghostlily  like  a  tail  of  fisli  on 
Lis  mother's  pan. 

He  heard  her  moaning  musically  over  his  head,  like 
the  doves  in  the  immemorial  elms.  It  was  a  strange 
farrago  of  Arthurs  and  Berthas  and  mulberry  trees. 
He  made  no  effort  to  follow  the  wanderings  of  her  mind, 
which  now  and  again  would  reach  indignantly  the  brick 
wall  of  her  late  dismissal.  Street  succeeded  street 
blankly  and  he  found  her  shuffling  at  last  for  a  key. 
They  entered  the  dark  lobby  of  a  house. 

''  Go  quiet,  kid  !  "  she  murmured,  "  Rosie's  got  a  pal 
in  the  parlour  to-night,  I  think  !  " 

They  entered  a  room  and  the  lady  lit  the  gas,  reveal- 
ing a  large  soft  bed  that  dominated  the  apartment. 
There  was  a  table  in  a  corner  where  stood  a  few  utensils 
and  a  portable  cooking-jet  on  a  small  round  of  oil- 
cloth. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Arthur !  "  she  said,  ''  You'd 
best  undress  yourself  and  get  into  bed.  I'll  get  your 
rasher  ready  in  a  jiffy." 

Philip  looked  shyly  up  to  her.  He  was  not  too  faint 
to  be  unaffected  by  the  thought  of  undressing  before  a 
strange  lady.    "  I  don't  like,"  he  muttered. 

"  It's  all  right,"  she  assured  him,  "  I'm  used  to 
it!" 

"  Perhaps  you've  got  boys  of  your  own  ?  "  Philip 
suggested  helpfully. 

*'  Oh  yes,  I've  got  lots  of  boys  !  " 

He  was  tremendously  tired  How  invitingly  that 
soft  bed  displayed  its  fat  pillows.  "  I  say,  please  !  " 
he  said  awkwardly.  "  Will  you  look  the  other 
way  ?  " 

She  tittered  soundlessly.  He  saw  she  had  a  succession 
of  chins  and  that  each  vibrated  to  her  mirth.  "  All 
right,  kid,  I'm  getting  on  with  the  food."    As  he  un- 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       139 

dressed,  she  cut  the  white  bread  into  healthy  slices 
and  buttered  them  abundantly.  Drowsily  he  saw  her 
making  the  tea  and  he  was  almost  asleep  when  he 
heard  a  loud  simmering  in  a  pan.  He  looked  up,  his 
mouth  watering,  and  saw,  impaled  on  her  fork,  a  semi- 
translucent  wafer  of  striped  meat.  He  shook  off  the 
mist  of  sleep.  "  Tell  me,  if  you  don't  mind.  Is  that  a 
rasher  1  " 

"  Of  course  it  is  !  " 

"  What  is  a  rasher  ?  " 

"  Bless  my  soul,  bacon,  0/ course  !  " 

"  Please,  please  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  daren't  eat 
bacon.    I  can't  eat  bacon  !  " 

"  That's  how  it  is,  is  it  ?  "  She  came  closer  curiously 
and  examined  his  face.  "  Hum,  yes  !  You're  a  little 
Jew-boy,  aren't  you  ?  " 

*'  I  am  !  "  He  wondered  what  it  was  going  to  mean. 
Would  she  send  him  back  into  the  night  hungry,  faint 
to  death  ?  Who  could  fathom  the  attitude  of  a  given 
Gentile,  man  or  woman,  towards  any  accidental  Jew- 
boy  1 

"  Funny  !  "  she  pondered.  "  One  Jew-boy  pushes 
me  out  and  I  takes  another  Jew-boy  in !  AH  right, 
Arthur  !  Nothing's  going  to  happen.  You're  still  my 
own  Arthur  1  Don't  get  frightened.  But  if  you  wont 
have  bacon,  you  can  only  have  sardines.  I  wasn't 
expecting  no  visitors  to-night." 

"  Anything  !  "  he  murmured  weakly. 

He  ate  greedily.  She  took  the  food  away  when  he  had 
finished  and  sat  by  the  bedside,  looking  into  his  face. 
She  held  his  hand  between  her  own  soft  hands.  In  two 
moments  he  was  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  next  morning  amid  the  clank  of  trams 
and  the  calling  of  boys,  he  found  himself  embraced  by 
two  great  white  arms.     W^ith  a  sudden  shudder  of 


140  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

realization,  tlie  events  of  yesterday  and  last  night  came 
back  to  him.  The  lady  who  had  been  so  kind  had  gone 
into  bed  after  him.  It  was  rather  stifling  in  the  bed, 
he  didn't  like  it !  He  didn't  like  lying  in  the  arms  of  a 
strange  lady.  A  qualm  of  dislike  passed  over  him.  As 
gently  as  possible,  so  as  not  to  waken  her,  he  slipped 
from  her  arms  and  from  the  bed  and  started  to  dress. 
Her  face  was  distinctly  unpleasant  in  the  cold  morning 
light.  It  was  heavy  and  layers  of  fat  swelled  all  round 
it.  She  had  been  crying,  for  the  marks  of  tears  ran 
dirtily  down  the  bleared  crimson  of  her  cheeks.  Her 
hair  lay  about  lankly  on  the  pillow.  Yet  there  was 
something  unutterably  pathetic  about  her  expression. 
How  could  he  show  her  his  gratitude  ?  Where  would 
he  have  been  without  her  ? 

"  It's  all  right,  Arthur,"  he  heard  her  say.  "  I  know 
you're  getting  up.  It's  all  right,  just  keep  on  dressing  1  " 
She  did  not  open  her  eyes. 

"  I  want  to  thank  you  very  much ! "  he  said 
lamely. 

"  No,  kid,  I  want  to  thank  you.  I've  never  had  it 
before.  I  don't  suppose  it'll  ever  come  again.  If  ever 
you  tells  your  mother  about  it,  just  say  as  Bertha 
thanks  her.  She's  a  mother  and  she'll  understand 
maybe.   So  long,  kiddie,  so  long  1  " 

He  was  fully  dressed.  He  made  a  movement  in  her 
direction.  "  No,  kid.  Don't  shake  my  hand.  Don't 
touch  me.  Before  you  have  anything  to  do  with  Bertha 
again,  just  walk  into  the  river  without  looking  where 
you're  going.  Go  away,  for  God's  sake,  go  away ! 
You'll  find  the  front  door  open !  Go  back  home ! 
Your  mother  wants  you !  "  Her  unwieldy  body  turned 
round  on  the  bed  and  the  great  face  was  buried  in 
the  pillow.  He  stole  from  the  room,  down  the  stairs, 
and  through  the  front  door.    The  door  closed  behind 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES      141 

him  and  he  saw  a  milk  cart  drive  by  cheerily.  Sud- 
denly the  figure  of  the  strange  kind  lady  became 
terrible  and  sad  and  very  remote.  He  tumed^away 
from  her  house.  Mechanically  he  set  his  face  in  the 
direction  of  home. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IF  Philip's  oration  on  the  croft,  despite  its  immediate 
consequences,  had  been  a  triumph  for  Philip,  the 
fatality  which  had  irresistibly  drawn  his  feet  homeward 
after  his  escapade  with  Bertha,  without  any  reference 
to  his  will,  was  a  triumph,  if  that  was  not  too  vulgar  a 
word,  for  Reb  Monash.  It  made  clear  to  both  the  father 
and  the  son  that  Philip  could  not  yet  exist  on  his  own 
initiative ;  however  refractory  a  cog  he  was  in  the 
machinery  of  the  house  in  Angel  Street,  that  machinery 
was  still  the  condition  of  his  existence  at  all.  It  was  the 
consciousness  that  this  position  had  been  made  starkly 
clear  by  the  issue  of  this  latest  event,  and  that  this 
latest  event  was  itself  so  tangible  a  grievance,  that 
induced  Reb  Monash  to  interview  Mr.  Furness.  After 
school  on  that  same  day,  summoned  by  a  special  note 
from  the  Head,  Philip  stood  apprehensively  outside  his 
door.  He  knocked  timidly.  A  tremendous  bellow 
filled  the  room  and  came  gustily  out  into  the  corridor. 

"  COME  in  !  "  the  first  word  reduplicate  and  rever- 
berant like  a  shout  in  the  cleft  of  hills.  Philip  entered, 
his  ears  singing.  But  the  next  moment  the  shout  ebbed 
wholly  from  his  ears  when  he  saw  Mr.  Furness  rise  and 
come  towards  him  with  a  smile  at  once  admonitory  and 
encouraging. 

"  Well,  Philip,  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  all  right,  sir,  thank  you,  sir  !  " 

"  Who  is  the  latest  poet  ?  Still  Shelley  ?  Keep  to 
142 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       143 

Shelley,  Philip ;  he  knew  more  of  the  spirit  of  God  than 
all  the  churches  !  " 

*'  I've  been  reading  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  sir." 

"  Humph  !  I'm  not  so  sure  !  Unhealthy,  morbid  ! 
Hard  time,  poor  fellow,  on  the  other  hand !  Don't 
overdo  him  !  " 

"  No,  sir  !  " 

"  But  to  the  matter  in  hand.  You  know  why  I've 
sent  for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.    He  told  me  he  was  coming,  sir." 

*'  Your  father's  a  great  man,  Philip.  If  in  twenty 
years  you're  half  the  man  he  is,  I'll  be  proud  of  you. 
You've  been  distressing  him,  he  tells  me.  He's  very 
concerned  about  you.    Come  now,  what's  wrong  ?  " 

"  I  can't  explain,  sir.    We're  different." 

"  You  ran  away  from  home  lately  and  were  out  all 
night  ?  " 

Philip  bit  his  lip.    "  Yes,  sir." 

"You're  too  old  for  that  mock  -  romantic  sort 
of  thing.  There's  a  strain  of  it  in  your  essays.  Mr. 
Gibson  sent  me  up  your  essay  on  Julius  Caesar — 
something  about '  he  shall  endure  while  the  luminaries 
of  history  rot  in  oblivion ! '  Luminaries  don't  rot. 
Leave  all  that  to  the  journahsts,  my  boy,  you  can  do 
better  stuff.  It  wasn't  only  mock-romantic,  it  was 
cruel !  Can  you  imagine  how  your  mother  slept  that 
night  ?  I'm  rather  ashamed  of  you.  It  was  selfish.  It 
was  a  pose." 

"  But  you  don't  know,  sir,  what  had  happened  the 
day  before.    I  was  nearly  dead." 

"  I  can  understand.  PubUc  speaking,  SociaHsm ! 
All  in  their  time  !  You're  forcing  things,  you'll  burn  out 
and  be  cinders  when  you  ought  to  be  a  man.  No,  you've 
not  got  the  foundation  for  it.  You've  been  slacking  in 
form.    What  is  it  you  go  to  poetry  for,  do  you  know  ?  " 


144  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

*'  I  can't  say,  sir.    Beauty,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Yes,  beauty  !  You  don't  know  the  beauty  of  labour, 
though.  When  you've  mastered  your  Caesar  and  your 
Greek  Grammar — dull  work,  my  boy,  dull  work  ! — you'll 
find  poetry  finer  than  Shelley,  the  poetry  Shelley  thought 
made  his  own  Hke  a  marsh-lamp,  the  poetry  of  the  Greeks. 
You  started  well,  but  your  place  in  form  has  been  going 
down  steadily.  Listen,  Philip,"  he  drew  the  boy  nearer 
to  him,  "  there's  the  question  of  your  scholarship.  Think 
what  it'll  mean  to  her  if  anything  happened  to  your 
scholarship.  You're  not  going  to  allow  it,  are  you  1 
And  if  you  go  down  as  steadily  as  you  have  been  going 
down  of  late,  I  don't  see  what  else  can  happen.  What 
do  you  feel  ?  " 

There  was  a  lump  in  Philip's  throat.  "  I  don't  want 
anything  to  happen  which  will  hurt  her." 

"  Well,  Philip,  we  understand  each  other.  Put  your 
hand  to  the  plough  like  a  man.  Make  a  clean  furrow 
and  a  deep  one.  I  don't  think  we  need  say  more,  need 
we  ?  Come  and  see  me  when  you've  made  a  fresh  dis- 
covery in  poetry,  we'll  talk  about  him.  So  good-bye 
now,  Philip  !  " 

Philip  took  the  big  man's  hand  and  withdrew,  feeling 
at  once  tearful,  chastened,  and  absurdly  exalted,  and  a 
solemn  determination  now  possessed  him  to  do  some 
serious  work  before  the  examination  which  ended  the 
year.  Every  evening  he  withdrew  to  his  own  back  room 
which,  out  of  most  unpromising  materials,  his  mother 
had  converted  into  the  semblance  of  a  study.  She  had 
inserted  ledges  into  soap  boxes  where  his  textbooks  and 
poets  were  ranged  above  frills  of  pinky-white  paper. 
She  had  covered  the  doddering  table  with  a  neat  piece 
of  parti-coloured  cloth.  A  few  bright  pictures  from 
magazines  were  tacked  upon  the  walls.  In  recognition 
of  the  new  spirit  of  industry  earnestly  avowed  before  her 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       145 

she  substituted  for  the  deficiently-seated  chair  a  rocking- 
chair  which  gave  PhiHp  an  especial  delight  and  won  him 
to  sympathy  with  aorist  tenses  and  the  optative  mood. 
Not  a  word  passed  between  Reb  Monash  and  Philip. 
No  current  of  sympathy  ran  to  connect  them.  Philip 
displayed  no  readiness  to  compromise  in  the  matter  of  a 
more  ardent  ritual.  He  would  gabble  off  his  prayers  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and  then,  with  no  attempt  to  hide 
his  relief,  turn  to  his  books.  His  prayers  were  still 
tolerable,  if  barely,  during  the  period  when  he  lavished 
his  enthusiasm  on  active  Sociahsm.  Now  that  he  began 
to  forswear  his  Socialistic  delights,  they  began  to  be 
dust  in  his  mouth.  The  half-hour  long  morning  prayers 
of  which  he  might  understand  one  word  in  twenty,  so 
wrought  upon  his  nerves,  that  he  felt  like  crying  aloud 
sharply,  particularly  during  that  section  of  the  devotion 
when  he  stood  towards  the  East,  placing  together  the 
inner  sides  of  his  feet,  looking  blankly  through  the  wall 
into  nothingness.  One  morning,  during  the  sheer 
meaningless  drift  of  his  utterance,  he  curiously  found 
himself  repeating  something  of  sweet  and  significant 
import.  He  was  reciting,  not  the  torpid  Hebrew,  but 
the  languorous  chimes  of  "  Ulalume."  Delightedly  he 
continued  the  poem  to  its  end  and  once  more  repeated  it, 
till  he  realized  that  the  time  expected  from  him  in  the 
recapitulation  of  the  "  Nineteen  Prayers  "  was  at  an 
end.  He  completed  his  morning's  devotion  with 
"  Alastor."  He  had  made  a  valuable  discovery.  The 
ennui  of  prayer  was  not  now  to  gloom  his  faculties 
thrice  daily.  He  could  now  pass  in  pageant  before  him 
all  the  comely  shapes  of  poetry  he  had  known. 

He  at  no  time  made  the  definite  discovery  that  Reb 
Monash  had  realized  his  substitution  of  poetry  for 
prayer.  If  Reb  Monash  had  made  the  discovery,  it 
was  not  succeeded  by  such  immediate  castigation  as 


146  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Philip  knew  well.  It  was  as  if  Reb  Monash  had  at  last 
found  out  that  at  the  end  of  these  episodes  the  cause  of 
piety,  if  anything,  was  weaker  in  his  son's  bosom  than 
before.  Darkness  gathered  over  the  house  in  Angel 
Street.  A  dim  premonition  of  failure  had  settled  upon 
Reb  Monash's  eyes,  but  sternly  he  fought  against  it. 
Mrs.  Massel  moved  wanly  and  fearfully  about  the  house, 
fearful  of  satisfying  her  hunger  for  Philip  with  a  stroke 
of  the  hand  or  a  word.  Channah  stayed  out  as  long  and 
discreetly  as  possible  with  her  friends.  A  silence  hung 
over  the  house,  for  Reb  Monash's  popularity  as  a 
raconteur  was  at  an  end.  Not  for  years  had  the  gather- 
ing in  the  kitchen  taken  place,  where,  centrally,  Mrs. 
Levine  sniffed,  and  the  tale  of  Rochke's  interment  was 
told  'mid  indignation  and  tears.  Only  at  night  was  the 
silence  broken  when  Philip  had  taken  his  books  down  to 
study  in  the  kitchen  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Massel  had  gone 
to  bed.  Then  for  an  hour,  or  for  two  hours,  Reb  Monash 
would  recount  the  iniquities  of  his  son  in  a  voice  of  loud, 
persistent  monotony,  still  persistent  while  the  advance 
of  sleep  was  clogging  its  clarity. 

Peculiarly  Philip  resented  the  incident  of  the  rocking- 
chair.  He  had  betrayed  his  liking  for  the  chair  in  a  casual 
conversation,  comparing  it  with  the  inadequacy  of  the 
chair  it  had  superseded.  He  found  next  day  that  his 
father  had  removed  the  chair.  It  was  not  wanted  nor 
used  by  Reb  Monash.  It  was,  he  reflected  bitterly,  pure 
dislike  of  the  thought  that  he  should  enjoy  even  so 
feeble  a  pleasure  as  this.  The  action  seemed  almost 
automatic  on  the  part  of  Reb  Monash  and  was  significant 
of  the  whole  relation  between  the  father  and  son. 

As  Philip  sat  on  the  lame,  cracking  chair  before  his 
table,  the  pointlessness  of  it  worked  him  up  to  a  white 
heat.  It  was  not  merely  pointless.  It  lacked  dignity. 
Reb  Monash  was  the  symbol  of  the  older  world,  with  iron 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       147 

and  austere  traditions,  with  a  forehead  lit  by  the  far 
lights  of  antiquity.  But  the  incident  of  the  rocking-chair 
stood  stupidly  out  of  keeping  with  the  conflict  of  which 
now  PhiHp  was  becoming  intellectually  conscious. 

At  this  time,  too,  the  domestic  finances  were  more 
miserable  than  they  had  ever  been  before.  The  threat 
began  to  take  shape  that,  at  the  end  of  the  year,  with  the 
conclusion  of  his  present  scholarship,  Philip  would  be 
expected  to  bring  in  his  contribution  to  the  household. 
All  the  more  passionately,  therefore,  Philip  applied  him- 
self to  his  books  in  the  hope  of  a  continuance  of  his 
scholarship  allowance.  Each  evening,  when  the  big 
kitchen  table  was  cleared,  he  descended  from  the  room 
upstairs  with  its  meagre  table  and  spread  his  books  over 
the  whole  extent  of  the  kitchen  table.  It  was  under- 
stood that  in  the  constriction  of  finances,  PhiHp  was  on 
no  account  to  work  by  gaslight,  a  single  candle  being, 
Reb  Monash  affirmed,  more  than  expensive  enough. 

In  truth  these  nights  were  cheerless  almost  as  a 
charnel-house.  It  was  not  merely  that  the  ghost  of  his 
mother  seemed  always  hovering  ineffectually  about  the 
room,  as  if  she  lifted  her  hands  for  a  peace  which  came 
not,  or  that  his  own  personality  surged  uneasily  and 
wretchedly  in  undecided  war  against  the  immanent 
personality  of  his  father.  Presences  more  tangible  and 
numerous  filled  the  room  with  detestable  sounds. 
Black,  heavy  beetles  came  drowsily  and  innumerably 
ambling  from  the  wainscotting  and  from  among  the 
embers  of  the  extinguished  fire.  He  could  hear  them 
crackHng  and  rustling  where  the  wall-paper  had  swollen 
from  the  wall.  They  filled  him  with  loathing.  They  were 
the  quintessence  of  the  ugliness  of  Doomington ;  but 
much  of  Doomington  had  been  charmed  away  for  him 
by  poetry,  the  beetles  no  charm  could  exorcise.  Some- 
times his  hatred  so  swept  him  away  that  he  ran  about 


148  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

tlie  room,  treading  quashily  on  tlie  hordes  of  beetles 
where  they  lumbered  along  the  floor.  But  the  more 
their  black  bodies  burst  into  white  paste  below  his  boot, 
the  more  unconcernedly  they  emerged  from  their  hiding 
places.  They  seemed  in  their  pompous  progression  to 
wink  and  leer  at  him,  where  the  dim  light  of  the  candle 
caught  their  oily  shells.  Then  a  nausea  gripped  him, 
his  feet  were  sticky  and  unclean,  the  gall  churned  in  his 
body.  They  crept  on  the  table  sometimes,  they  dropped 
with  a  sucking  thud  from  the  bulging  whitewash  of  the 
ceiUng.  Once  he  lifted  a  glass  of  water  from  the  table 
to  his  lips  and  found  his  lips  in  contact  with  the  body  of  a 
beetle  on  the  rim.  That  night  he  was  so  wild  with 
terror  that  he  lit  the  gas — unconscionable  extravagance, 
but  as  he  sat  feebly  in  the  chair,  he  could  hear  the  foul 
battalions  rustling,  whispering,  smirking  towards  their 
chinks. 

His  eyes  had  always  been  weak.  The  working  by 
candle-light  gave  him  so  much  pain  that  he  now  formed 
the  habit  of  lighting  the  gas  when  the  last  syllables  of 
the  monologue  upstairs  had  died  away.  One  night  he 
left  the  kitchen-door  open  and  the  light  staggered  out 
into  the  hall.  A  dim  beam  thrown  upward  somehow 
attracted  the  attention  of  Reb  Monash,  who  had  ceased 
intoning  that  night  more  from  weariness  than  sleep.  A 
shout  of  anger  filled  the  house.  Tremblingly  Philip 
extinguished  the  gas  and  pored  aching  over  his  texts  by 
dim  candle-light.  It  was  with  infinite  caution,  and  when 
his  eyes  stood  almost  blindly  in  his  skull,  that  now  he 
ventured  to  light  the  gas.  More  than  an  hour  after  mid- 
night on  one  occasion  he  stood  on  the  table  and  appUed 
the  candle  to  the  gas-jet.  It  was  a  heavy  and  oppressive 
night,  but  he  had  much  work  to  do  ;  the  examinations 
were  at  hand.  Again  a  long  time  passed.  The  sweat 
stood  clammily  on  Philip's  head.    His  lungs  gaped  for 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       149 

air.  He  placed  a  chair  against  the  door  and  held  it 
half-open,  so  that,  while  a  little  light  escaped,  a  little 
air  came  in.  Once  more  he  buried  himself  deep  in  his 
work.  Wearily  his  eyes  went  on  from  page  to  page.  He 
entered  almost  into  a  trance  of  dull  pre-occupation  with 
the  lifeless  books.  Nothing  existed  for  him  beyond  the 
poor  round  of  grammar,  dictionary,  text,  notebook. 
Life  was  neither  a  freedom  nor  a  slavery ;  it  was  a 
concentration  upon  unimportant  importances,  emptily 
insistent  upon  themselves.  The  sense  which  informed  him 
that  Reb  Monash  stood  at  the  door  was  neither  sight 
nor  sound.  He  was  aware  of  his  presence.  His 
heart  seemed  to  flicker  hesitantly  down  the  depths 
of  his  being,  until  it  left  a  blank  behind  his  ribs, 
where  a  mouth  entered  whose  teeth  were  fear  and 
pain  and  anger.  Anger !  Surely  it  was  not  right 
for  any  man,  in  any  relation,  let  alone  a  father, 
to  steal  like  a  criminal  from  his  bed,  soundlessly, 
terribly,  and  stand  there  with  shut,  pale  lips  1  There  were 
limits  to  the  methods  correct  in  the  most  comprehensive 
fatherhood.  And  his  crime  ?  He  was  doing  his  work, 
nothing  more  than  his  work  !  His  tongue  was  chafed 
and  sick.  Perhaps  it  was  an  illusion  after  all.  Surely 
he  was  alone,  he  had  heard  nothing.  He  Hfted  his 
eyes.  The  actual  physical  presence  of  Reb  Monash 
struck  him  sharply  and  heavily  like  a  blow  on  the  cheek. 
He  gasped  with  fright.  He  stood  there  forbidding  and 
dark,  but  a  strange  light  round  him  and  his  dim  night- 
clothes.  He  was  supernatural.  He  stood  there  taut 
with  hate.  He  said  not  a  word.  Philip's  jaw  relaxed, 
his  eyes  staring  dazed  into  his  father's  eyes.  They 
stared  at  each  other  across  a  gulf  of  deafening  noise  and  of 
ghastly  silence.  Whose  feet  had  brought  him  down 
silent  as  death  from  his  bed,  who  invested  him  with 
that    cadaverous    power  ?      inimitably    beyond    him 


150  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

stretched  ancestral  influences  into  the  bowels  of  time. 
There  was  one  slipping  away,  fruit  of  their  loins,  one  for 
whom  each  had  been  a  Christ  crucified,  slipping  from 
the  fold  of  their  pride  into  the  pagan  vast.  Behind  the 
boy's  head  boyish  presences  groped  towards  him.  .  .  . 

The  spell  was  snapped  by  a  hurried  pattering  of  feet 
downstairs.    The  scared  face  of  Mrs.  Massel  appeared. 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  ?  "  she  wailed,  "  what  dost 
thou  mean  ?  Go  !  Touch  him  not !  He  might  have 
died  with  fright !  What  art  thou  ?  What  dost  thou 
mean  by  it  ?  "  She  had  at  last  asserted  herself.  With 
weak  hands  she  pushed  him  away  from  the  door.  "  Come, 
leave  the  boy  1  He  will  go  to  bed  at  once  !  See,  his  face 
is  like  a  tablecloth  !    Come,  oi,  oi,  come  !  " 

*'  Go  thou  in  front !  "  said  Reb  Monash.  He  entered 
the  kitchen,  where  Philip  cowered  on  his  chair.  He 
turned  out  the  gas  and  without  a  word  went  upstairs  to 
his  room.  A  dull  idiocy  numbed  Philip's  brain.  He 
put  his  head  down  between  his  hands,  and  it  slipped 
before  long  on  to  the  table.  Here  Mrs.  Massel  found  him 
after  some  hours  when  she  came  down  to  light  the  fire. 
As  he  shook  himself,  a  beetle  fell  sleepily  from  his  sleeve. 


CHAPTER  IX 

SOME  time  previously,  in  the  spring  of  the  same  year, 
the  walls  of  Doomington  had  fallen  to  their  last 
stone  upon  the  blast  of  the  trumpets  of  spring.  Philip 
and  Harry  had  adventured  one  afternoon  beyond  the 
moor  called  "  Baxter's  Hill  "  at  the  north  of  the  town 
and  found  themselves  by  the  side  of  a  Mitchen  distinctly 
cleaner  than  the  river  which  flowed  behind  the  wire 
factory  at  the  bottom  of  Angel  Street.  They  had  walked 
up-stream  for  several  miles  out  to  a  place  of  fresh  fields 
and  young  lambs  skipping.  It  was  true  that  chimneys 
still  punctuated  every  horizon  with  smoky  fingers. 
But  here  and  there  were  thickets  of  trees  where  the  lads 
lay  embowered  in  green  peace,  conscious  of  thick  grass 
only  and  the  speech  of  leaves.  They  both  claimed  the 
distinction  of  having  first  sighted  the  shimmering  and 
enchanted  carpet  of  blue  below  a  sun-pierced  canopy  of 
foliage.  Here  they  abandoned  themselves  to  the  first 
wild  rapture  of  Spring — the  first  rapture  of  Spring  Philip 
had  known — burying  their  faces  among  the  dewy  bells. 
Further  and  further  to  the  dusk  they  went,  until  a  new 
town,  flinging  its  van  to  meet  them  and  to  meet  the 
Spring  in  their  button-holes  and  hearts,  said,  "Advance 
no  more  !  "  Weary  and  sleepy  and  very  hungry  they 
came  home  that  night,  but  their  arms  were  lush  with 
heaped  bluebells  and  the  knowledge  of  Spring  was  steady 
in  them.  They  knew  a  place  where  Doomington  was  a 
lie  and  earth  was  soft. 


152  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Into  this  place,  in  tlie  attenuated  figure  of  Alec  Segal, 
the  "  clever  devil  "  whose  acquaintance  Philip  had  made 
several  months  ago,  came  Atheism.  The  recent  years 
of  his  history  had  not  left  Philip  wholly  unprepared  for 
the  assault  against  Judaism.  But  when  Segal  said 
casually  that  the  Holy  Bible's  self  was  just  a  bundle 
of  musty  papyri,  and  God  a  dispensable  formula,  he  was 
painfully  shocked. 

"  Look  here,  Segal !  "  he  said,  "  How  can  you  say 
such  a  thing  ?     Anything  might  happen  to  a  chap  1  " 

Segal  took  off  his  cap  and  made  an  awkward  gesture 
towards  the  imphcit  deity.  "  Right-ho  !  "  he  exclaimed, 
"  Happen  away  !  " 

Philip  held  his  breath  for  a  moment.  Nothing  took 
place.    Only  a  cow  mooed  contentedly. 

Segal  was  slightly  taller  than  Harry  and  a  little  his 
senior.  The  angle  of  his  nose  related  him  more  directly 
than  either  of  his  two  friends  to  the  root  stock  of  his 
race.  Yet  he  had  neither  the  Heinesque  vehemence  of 
the  one  nor  the  inveterate  romance  of  the  other.  He 
could,  in  fact,  hardly  be  thought  of  in  terms  of  character. 
He  seemed  to  be  the  sum  of  certain  intellectual  qualities. 
His  sole  morbidity  was  a  ruthless  passion  for  logic. 
Poetry,  which  in  various  ways  had  brought  the  three 
youths  together,  interested  him,  but  neither  for  ethical 
nor  for  aesthetic  reasons.  Each  poem  was  an  interesting 
proposition  in  itself,  like  a  mixture  in  a  test  tube  at  his 
school  laboratory.  It  had  the  mechanical  attributes 
of  rhythm  and  rhyme  and  metaphor  constructing  a 
mechanical  whole. 

But  on  thinking  the  matter  over,  after  frequent  and 
painful  discussion,  Philip  reahzed  that  Segal's  attitude 
so  shocked  him  because  it  dared  to  put  into  blunt  words 
something  he  had  long  been  timorously  feehng.  By  the 
Bible,  of  course,  Segal  meant  religion  generally.    The 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       153 

Bible  was  the  foundation  of  Judaism  and  therefore  of 
Christianity,  which,  he  had  long  ago  decided,  in  any 
case  hadn't  much  claim  to  serious  consideration.  His 
own  remark  had  been  sound  enough ;  he  had  declared 
that  the  disappearance  of  religion  would  leave  the  world 
"  jolly  empty."  But  empty  of  what  things  ?  Empty 
as  a  garden  without  weeds.  What  stupidity,  cruelty, 
ignorance,  flourished  below  the  damp  boughs  of  reli- 
gion from  border  to  border  of  the  world !  And  what 
things  would  still  flourish  if  religion  were  cut  down ! 
Tall  trees  of  liberty,  fine  flowers  of  poetry  I 

What  was  it  he  had  always  felt  wrong  with  Judaism  ? 
What  did  it  lack  ?  It  was  a  quality  not  entirely  missing 
even  from  the  garbled  Christianity  that  came  his  way. 
The  Baptist  Missionary  Chapel  was  as  fervent  an  enemy 
of  this  quality  as  the  most  vigorous  Judaism.  But  dim 
intimations  had  come  by  him  on  the  wind  of  another 
Christian  spirit.  Here  there  were  white  lilies  and  blue 
gowns  pointed  with  stars  ;  there  was  soft  singing  at 
evening  and  the  burning  of  many  candles ;  there  were 
superb  altars,  marble  and  kingly.  Superb  altars — the 
Baptist  Missionary  Chapel !  Christianity  contained 
both.  But  this  quality  was  eternally  triumphant  in  the 
grand  false  superstitions  of  Greece  and  Rome.  Here 
there  were  white  pillars  in  a  noon  of  hyacinth  ;  baskets  of 
wrought  gold  held  violets  and  primroses ;  there  were 
processions  of  chiselled  gods  before  whom  maidens 
scattered  a  long  foam  of  petals  ;  there  were  lads  running 
races  and  the  wind  was  in  their  hair ;  the  wind  was  a 
god,  there  were  gods  in  the  thickets  of  olive  and  in  the 
translucent  caves  of  the  sea. 

Beauty  !  Poetry  !  This  was  what  he  needed  most. 
This  was  what  that  old  world  gave.  What  dehght  did 
his  fathers  know,  generation  beyond  generation,  in  the 
comely  things  of  the  world  ?    What  statuary  had  come 


154  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

down  and  what  pictures  of  burnished  gold  and  azure  1 
What  dances  were  there  to  the  rising  sun  and  in  proces- 
sion with  the  slow  stars  ?  If  any  of  his  fathers  had  made 
him  a  graven  image,  he  was  stoned  and  the  thunders  of 
those  hoary  enemies  of  lovely  things  shook  over  the 
cowering  tribes.  There  had  descended  to  him  a  tradition 
of  tragedy  and  pride.  Of  beauty,  none.  There  was,  for 
example,  the  sJiool.  How  the  air  was  foetid  !  How  the 
walls  were  bare  !  How  the  hangings  before  the  ark  were 
tawdry  !  How  the  prayers  were  raucous,  how  the  air 
drooped  for  lack  of  poetry  1 

Ah !  the  sense  of  reUef  which  began  to  possess  him 
when  now,  throwing  forward  his  chest,  and  breathing 
even  in  midmost  Doomington  the  deep  air  of  liberty,  he 
realized  how  vain  were  all  his  innumerable  ceremonies  ; 
that  God  did  not  require  of  him  these  things  and  these  ; 
He  did  not  sit  there  watchfully  counting  the  syllables  of 
prayer  His  votaries  uttered,  sit  there  like  a  miser  counting 
his  pieces  of  gold ;  that  the  subterfuges  and  evasions 
of  ritual  which  had  given  him  frequent  unease  were  not 
fraught  with  more  than  a  merely  local  and  temporary 
danger.  Forward  from  phylacteries !  They  had 
slipped  from  his  arms  like  manacles.  They  lay  discarded 
like  the  slough  of  a  serpent,  coiled  round  his  feet.  What 
there  was  now  of  poetry  in  the  Feast  of  Tabernacles,  in 
the  prophetic  and  vague  beards  of  the  old  men,  in  the 
synagogue-chanting  on  darkening  Saturday  evenings, 
in  the  mingled  array  of  the  Passover  Tables,  in  the 
puckered  faces  of  the  antique  women  muttering  their 
year-long  prayers,  in  the  blast  of  the  liberating  horn 
upon  the  Fast  of  Atonement — what  there  was  of  poetry 
in  them,  he  was  free  to  understand ;  for  they  were 
shorn  of  all  that  had  made  them  forbidding  ;  they  were 
not  symbols  of  dark  terror,  they  were  pathways  into  the 
heart  "of  the  world.    And  with  these  he  was  free  to 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       155 

understand  what  there  was  of  poetry  in  the  vague 
Christian  lilies,  in  the  burning  of  candles  before  the 
shrines  of  picturesque  saints,  brothers  of  those  other  and 
marble  gods.  All  that  these  Greek  gods  had  of  poetry 
and  all  their  groves  and  their  broad-browed  morning  lads 
and  the  virginal  worshippers  before  those  altars  of 
poetry — all,  all  these  things  were  his.  He  was  winning 
to  freedom  after  much  slavery. 

But  the  acceptance  of  a  general  diminution  in  the 
divine  attributes,  through  which  the  Godhead  gradually 
became  a  vague  half-credible  abstraction,  was  attended 
by  a  campaign  much  more  injurious  to  Philip's  ease.  His 
elders  had  approached  God  with  as  much  terror  as  under- 
standing when  they  made  any  advances  in  the  celestial 
direction.  It  was  reassuring  to  realize  that  if  God  was 
being  divested  of  His  raiment  of  love.  He  was  losing 
proportionately  the  hghtning  of  His  jealousy  and  the 
bolt  of  His  somewhat  sectarian  wrath.  Yet  simultane- 
ously, as  Segal  and  Harry  agreed  with  no  apparent 
remorse,  it  was  imperative  to  abandon  the  immortality 
of  the  soul.  To  Philip  there  was  something  homicidal, 
matricidal,  in  the  facile  way  with  which  they  consigned 
to  worms  as  their  ultimate  doom  the  folk  whom  they 
might  be  expected  to  love  most  dearly.  They  admitted 
it  was  an  unpleasant  pill  to  swallow,  but  in  the  wind  of 
truth  their  personal  predilections,  they  avowed,  were 
as  chafi  !  Who  were  they  to  stand  up  against  Logic, 
against  Law  ?  "  Truth  the  grand,"  a  poet  had  said, 
*'  has  blown  my  dreams  into  grains  of  sand  !  " 

Segal  remained  imperturbable  amid  the  crash  of 
boyish  comfort  and  illusion.  His  own  extinction  being 
the  disintegration  of  a  number  of  acute  faculties,  there 
would  be  no  wraith  of  frustrated  passion  and  insatiate 
hungers  to  move  forlornly  through  the  Godless  void. 
There  was  a  keen,  bright  fascination  in  this  self-suffi- 


156  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

ciency  for  both  the  tempestuous  utilitarianism  of  Harry 
and  the  inchoate  poetry  of  PhiUp  for  whom  this  friend- 
ship involved  almost  a  pungent  ecstasy  of  self-extinction, 
like  the  repeated  assault  of  the  moth  against  the  poised, 
unreluctant  flame.  These  conclusions  plunged  Harry 
into  a  more  fiery  round  of  Socialistic  activities  than  he 
had  yet  known.  If  the  oppressed  classes  of  the  world 
would  in  no  future  state  achieve  equality,  if  the  capital- 
ists in  no  democracy  of  spirits  would  be  set  by  counter- 
balance to  hew  wood  and  draw  water  for  wage  slaves 
there  triumphant,  all  the  more  reason  then  to  achieve  an 
earthly  Utopia,  to  rouse  young  Doomington  to  a  sense  of 
its  manifold  wrongs  and,  in  the  concrete,  to  stand  as 
Socialist  candidate  for  the  coming  parliamentary 
election  at  the  Highfield  Grade  School.  Philip,  on  the 
other  hand,  felt  what  happened  in  this  miserable  and 
abortive  world  hardly  mattered,  when  all  its  insignificant 
schemes  were  doomed,  collectively  and  individually,  to 
sudden  and  absolute  annihilation.  The  extinction  of 
souls  was  not  an  attractive  philosophy,  he  reflected 
bitterly,  but  there  seemed  no  alternative  but  to  accept 
it  as  a  general  truth.  Not  wholly  consciously  and  with  a 
passionate  stupidity  he  applied  three  individual  cases 
to  the  test  of  the  general  assertion ;  the  survival  of 
Shelley's  soul,  his  mother's  and  his  own.  What  arguing 
could  there  be  about  these  three  and,  least  of  all,  about 
Shelley's.  His  mother's  death  and  his  own  being  so 
utterly  incredible,  so  much  contra  naturam,  their  souls 
existed  in  an  ether  beyond  all  j  eopardy .  Yet  Shelley  was 
demonstrably  dead.  But  was  he  dead  indeed  ?  He 
reahzed  now  for  the  first  time  how  Shelley  was  the  lar 
of  all  his  years.  He  might  vaguely  and  unhappily 
acquiesce  in  the  [destruction  of  souls  [en  [masse,  but 
nothing  could  convince  him  that  Shelley  did  not  triumph, 
personally,  separately,  in  the  clouds  of  morning  and  ride 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       157 

the  horses  of  the  wind  ;  that  he  was  not  still  the  conscious 
spirit  of  song  wherever  birds  and  waters  sang  ;  that  the 
pyre  had  dissipated  for  ever  that  unconquerable  spirit. 

Such  then  was  the  dubious  and  difficult  current  of 
Philip's  atheism.  And  it  was  a  strange  fortune  that 
these  speculations  should  most  have  waged  war  within 
him  at  that  period  of  the  Jewish  year  when  the  festivals 
which  culminate  in  the  New  Year  and  the  Day  of 
Atonement  demanded  unusually  frequent  attendance 
within  the  walls  of  the  Polisher  Shool,  the  inner  temple 
of  phylacteries,  where  Philip  still  so  long  and  so  fre- 
quently was  held  captive. 

The  worshipper  entered  the  synagogue  through  a 
narrow  door  to  the  left  of  an  establishment  for  fried 
fish  and  chips.  The  odour,  therefore,  of  these  commodi- 
ties rising  through  the  building  interpenetrated  the 
atmosphere  of  prayer,  until  prayer  and  chipped  potatoes 
became  inextricably  woven  together,  and  at  no  period 
in  his  life  could  Philip  pass  beyond  a  fried  fish  shop 
without  feeling  a  far-ofE  refluence  from  the  old  call  to 
worship.  Indeed,  Philip's  earliest  anthropomorphism 
represented  the  Deity  as  some  immense  celestial  figure 
in  white  cloth  and  a  white  hat  standing  above  the  fume 
and  splendour  of  a  great  concave  oven  where  He 
shovelled  upon  his  tray  the  souls  of  human  beings, 
brown  and  crisp,  and  resembling  mystically  the  strips 
of  potatoes  shovelled  by  Mr.  Marks  upon  a  less  divine 
tray  in  a  chip-shop  less  august. 

The  worshipper  now  cHmbed  a  narrow  staircase,  and 
passing  by  the  women's  door  entered  the  synagogue 
proper.  If  he  had  endured  some  recent  loss  in  his 
family,  the  beadle  from  within  would  declare  robustly, 
'*  Look  ye  towards  the  bereaved  one !  "  who  would 
enter  with  drooped  head,  the  object  of  the  regulated 
curiosity  of  bearded  and  beardless  alike.    Only  a  thin 


158  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

wooden  partition  divided  the  women's  from  the  men's 
section,  so  that  on  one  side  praise  was  Hfted  to  the  Lord 
by  the  women  because  He  had  made  them  what  they 
were,  on  the  other,  in  unabashed  juxtaposition,  heartier 
praise  was  Hfted  by  the  men  because  He  had  made  them 
men.  Little  boys  could  stand  quite  easily  upon  the  forms 
and  look  down  upon  the  women  swaying  in  their  old 
black  silks  and  beneath  their  crazy  cherry-garlanded 
bonnets.  Here  stood  the  rehitsin,  Serra  Golda,  the 
most  pious  and  wrinkled  of  Hebrew  wom3n,  who,  because 
it  is  a  mitzvah,  an  act  of  grace,  to  stand  as  long  as  possible 
during  .-the  Day  of  Atonement,  stood  all  that  hot  long 
day  on  her  ulcered  feet,  even  though  the  mere  creeping 
from  her  own  dun  parlour  not  far  away  had  been  one 
hard  agony.  Here  too  stood  Mrs.  Massel,  very  quiet  and 
shy  among  the  voluble  women,  wiping  her  eyes  some- 
times and  repeating  the  prayers  quietly,  or  perhaps, 
becoming  conscious  of  the  dark  watchful  scrutiny  of  her 
boy  beyond  the  partition,  Ufting  to  him  her  face  for  one 
sweet  moment  and  dropping  it  again  towards  her 
Prayer  Book. 

Against  the  centre  of  the  Eastern  wall,  which  was  at 
right  angles  with  this  partition,  stood  the  Ark  wherein 
the  Scrolls  of  the  Law  reposed  among  mothy  velvet, 
themselves  enveloped  in  a  petticoat  of  plush  whence 
hung  silver  bells.  The  whole  Ark  was  curtained  by  a 
pall  of  scarlet,  lettered  with  gold  thread.  At  the  centre 
of  the  masculine  section  (whose  dimensions  were  some 
fifty  by  forty  feet)  stood  the  pulpit,  some  inches  above 
the  general  level,  where  the  whole  service  was  incanted 
and  the  occasional  auxiliaries  from  the  audience  were 
summoned.  Below  the  pulpit  and  facing  the  Ark,  a 
cofl&n-like  desk  drawn  closely  against  their  ampHtudes, 
sat  the  elected  officers  for  the  year,  the  parnass  and  the 
two  gdbhoim.    Reb  Monash,  the  power  of  whose  oratory 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       159 

was  so  signal  an  ornament  to  the  Polisher  Shooly  sat 
upon  the  right-hand  side  of  the  Ark  itself,  against  the 
wall.  The  benches  ran  parallel  along  the  shool  on  both 
sides  of  the  pulpit.  In  the  strict,  if  uncongenial,  interests 
of  truth  it  is  necessary  to  say  that  every  member  of  the 
S5niagogue  above  the  age  of  thirty  spat,  and  not  a  few 
below  that  age,  these  last  retaining  the  easier  hygiene  of 
Poland  and  further  Europe.  The  more  honourable 
worthies  had  their  own  particular  joints  in  the  boarding 
for  their  expectorations,  although,  if  they  were  more  than 
usually  afflicted,  they  would  proceed  to  the  doorway, 
returning  thence  purged.  Hence  experience  alone  was 
an  adequate  pilot  for  an  unscathed  journey  between  any 
point  of  the  synagogue  and  the  door.  There  were  times 
when  such  tender  breasts  as  Philip's  were  so  nauseated 
by  the  persistent  spitting  that  their  hearts  seemed  to 
suspend  beating  from  sheer  sickness.  On  two  occasions 
PhiHp's  head  fell  back  bloodlessly  and  with  a  bang 
on  the  hard  wood  behind  him  and  he  was  taken  away  to 
the  lavatory,  where  several  men  and  women  filled  their 
mouths  with  water  and  cascaded  his  face  for  some 
minutes  until  he  opened  his  eyes.  No  season  in  the  year 
was  hot  enough  to  justify  the  opening  of  the  windows. 
A  current  of  the  comparatively  clean  air  from  Doom- 
ington  Road  was  declared  with  horror  to  be  "  A  draught ! 
A  draught !  "  and  with  patriarchical  fury  the  windows 
were  closed  to.  Sometimes  on  a  particularly  sultry  day 
an  enterprising  youth  might  open  a  window  for  several 
inches  without  drawing  the  attention  of  the  elders. 
It  would  be  unobserved  for  perhaps  half  an  hour  as  no 
slightest  movement  of  air  was  created.  Then  the  alarm 
would  be  given.  Immediately  angry  shouts  of  "  A 
draught !  A  draught !  "  would  be  heard,  some  would 
huddle  their  arms  in  the  cold,  some  would  cough  vehem- 
ently in  the  blizzard  of  self-suggestion.    Occasionally 


160  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

the  younger  generation  might  make  the  effort  to  stand 
up  shoulder  to  shoulder  for  the  rights  of  ventilation, 
but  so  furious  a  hubbub  would  be  created,  the  unease 
spreading  itself  into  the  women's  department  where  a 
clucking  would  be  heard  as  of  an  apprehensive  farmyard  ; 
but  especially  the  thunders  of  Mr.  Linsky  would  be  so 
olympically  august,  that  the^  younger  generation  would 
subside  and  once  more  the  opaque  odours  coagulate. 

The  Polisher  Shool  was,  it  may  be  deduced,  a  somewhat 
reactionary  institution.  But  occasionally  Keb  Monash 
was  called  upon  to  deliver  an  oration  in  a  synagogue  of 
such  iEsculapian  sanity  that  the  atmosphere  seemed 
positively  to  evoke  the  vacant  silence  of  Gentile  worship. 
The  definitely  EngHsh  congregations  were  assembled 
actually  in  superseded  chapels,  and  here  the  laws  of 
ventilation  were  no  less  rigorous  than  in  the  offices  of 
the  Doomington  Board  of  Health.  But  these  lacked 
the  element  of  personality  with  which  the  Polisher  Shool 
was  perhaps  too  copiously  endowed.  And  if  all  his  life 
Philip  had  not  been  made  unceasingly  conscious  of  the 
dislike  entertained  for  him  in  cordial  measure  by  the 
body  politic  of  the  synagogue,  he  would  have  derived 
much  consolation  from  the  study  of  its  personalities,  of 
the  rotund  Keb  Yonah,  of  Reb  Shimmon  like  an  army 
with  banners,  and  the  wizened  shammos,  the  beadle, 
flapping  about  on  loose  soles  like  a  disreputable  ghost. 

Philip's  attitude  towards  shool  was  immediately 
prejudiced  on  his  mere  going  thither.  For  almost  from 
earliest  times,  not  appreciably  long,  it  seemed,  after  he 
had  discarded  the  blue  wool  and  tassels  of  infancy,  he 
had  been  expected  to  crown  his  small  figure  with  a  large 
black  bowler  hat ;  and  bowler  hats,  as  could  not  be 
denied,  were  bloody.  He  felt  stupidly  self-conscious  as 
he  walked  along  by  his  father's  side,  as  if  all  Doomington 
stared  and  jeered.   If  Reb  Monash  met  a  friend  and  these 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       161 

pursued  a  common  way  to  the  synagogue,  Philip  would 
hover  behind,  remove  the  bowler  hat,  and  pretend  it  was 
somebody  else's — he  was  only  "  holding  it  like." 

There  was  a  brood  of  young  gentlemen  very  popular 
among  their  elders  at  the  Polisher  Shool.  There  was 
Hymie,  whose  eyes  were  large  and  innocent  and  who 
helped  himself  daily  from  his  father's  till.  His  voice  was 
the  voice  of  an  exceptionally  guileless  thrush  and  he  sang 
Yiddish  songs  at  Shalla-shudos,  the  Saturday  afternoon 
gatherings.  There  was  Moishe,  who  asked  such  clever 
questions  so  sweetly  concerning  the  weekly  portion,  that 
they  were  answered  with  deUght  by  the  expository  old 
men,  excepting  when,  as  they  somewhat  frequently  did, 
they  involved  sexual  references.  Moishe's  mind  was 
prematurely  a  cesspool.  Others  also  there  were  to  whom 
piety  was  a  paying  proposition,  and  two  were  pious 
because  they  were  thus  made.  Philip  could  not  throw 
in  his  lot  with  this  company.  And  the  whole  shool 
remembered  how  the  synagogue-president,  the  parnasSf 
had,  some  years  ago,  pressed  him  to  drink  of  the  Sabbath 
night  cup  of  wine  ;  how  Philip  had  refused  it  both 
because  he  didn't  like  wine  and  because  he  didn't  like  a 
public  exhibition  of  a  deed  tinged  with  piety  ;  how  the 
pride  of  the  parnass  had  been  aroused  and  how  he 
endeavoured  to  force  the  wine  between  Philip's  lips  while 
the  whole  shool  awaited  the  issue  ;  how  Philip  had  sud- 
denly thrust  aside  the  foot  of  the  beaker  so  that  the 
wine  fell  stickily  round  the  respective  trousers  of  himself 
and  the  parnass. 

Philip  felt  instinctively  how  everybody  stiffened  with 
dislike  when  he  entered  the  synagogue,  a  dislike  ac- 
centuated by  the  universal  honour  with  which  his  father 
was  regarded.  Had  he  but  been  the  son  of  a  bootmaker, 
the  Judaic  virtues  would  not  have  been  so  prominently 
expected  from  him ;   they  would  have  said  "  a  boot- 


162  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

maker  remains  a  bootmaker,  even  to  his  remote  poster- 
ity !  "  But  being  the  son  of  Reb  Monash,  whose  black 
hair  and  beard  his  son  was  even  now  dimming  with 
disastrous  grey,  Philip  was  a  public  scorn. 

All  which  did  not  embarrass  Phihp  so  much  as  the 
interminable  hours  he  spent  behind  the  shut  windows 
in  the  stale  air — while  bluebells  lilted  afar  ofi  and  birds 
spoke  their  foreign  exquisite  languages.  And  now  above 
all  a  widening  had  thrust  his  horizon  far  away  and  far 
away  from  the  smoky  Kmits  of  Doomington,  far  from  the 
mythic  circuit  of  green  waves  wherein  England  lay, 
far  from  the  last  hills  of  the  world,  out  to  the  tingling 
spaces  and  the  royal  stars. 

For  Segal,  who  had  brought  the  dissolution  of  atheism 
with  him,  had  brought  also  astronomy  :  with  a  singing 
for  the  quiet  sun  and  a  meaning  for  the  hollows  of  sky. 
It  was,  of  course,  a  long  time  now  that  for  both  Philip 
and  Harry  the  flat  layer  of  earth  had  dropped  away, 
coiling  round  themselves  to  produce  the  globe  they  had 
seen  in  effigy,  so  far  back  as  the  days  of  Miss  Green. 
But  Segal  introduced,  as  preliminaries.  Sir  Robert  Ball 
and  Proctor  and  Camille  Flammarion,  and  a  knowledge 
of  constellations,  the  nature  of  nebulae,  star  dust  and 
the  Milky  Way,  which  united  the  three  boys  with  a  bond 
of  fervent  interest.  For  Segal  it  meant  illimitable  fresh 
spaces  for  the  plummet  of  logic  ;  and  because  Space  was 
infinite,  no  room  was  left  for  God,  who,  if  He  existed  at 
all,  could  thus  only  be  attenuated  into  nothingness. 
Harry  dreamed  of  an  undiscoverable  planet  where 
equity  among  its  mortals  prevailed  ;  for  in  the  infinite 
types  of  star  which  space  permitted  through  infinite  time, 
it  was  evident  that  one  such  star  had  been  or  was  or 
might  be  developed  ;  it  was  to  this  ideal  star  that  he 
hitched  the  lumbering  wagon  of  earth.  To  Philip,  the 
Milky  Way  was  a  divine  bluebell  bank  dancing  by  the 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       1G3 

borders  of  a  celestial  river.  The  stars  fed  him  with 
innumerable  new  images,  giving  to  his  conception  of 
poetry  a  depth  and  height.  And  here  once  more,  as  if  to 
consummate  the  significance  Shelley  had  involved 
through  each  succeeding  phase  of  Philip's  adolescence, 
just  as  he  had  been  found  to  crystallize  a  world  in  which 
complete  escape  from  Doomington  mud  and  brick  might 
be  realized  ;  to  hold  the  stormy  banner  of  Socialism ; 
to  smite  down  the  hydra-heads  of  religion  ;  so  now 
Shelley  was  seen  to  be  a  poet  to  whom  the  fields  of  stars 
were  more  naturally  a  place  for  wandering  and  singing 
than  deathly  fields  of  sorrel  and  marguerite  ;  he  was  the 
Starry  Poet. 

"  I  say,  you  chaps  !  "  Harry  said  excitedly  one  day, 
"  there's  a  telescope  in  the  Curiosity  Shop  opposite  the 
gaol!    What  about  it  ?  " 

'*  The  inference  being,"  suggested  Segal,  "  that  as 
soon  as  we've  pinched  the  telescope  the  gaol's  waiting  on 
the  other  side  of  the  road  ?  " 

"  No,  old  Cartwright's  too  watchful  and  the  gaol  too 
uncomfortable.  Didn't  you  say  so  yourself  when  you 
came  out  after  your  last  six  months'  hard  ?  What 
about  clubbing  together  and  buying  it  ?  " 

"  I've  got  fourpence  !  "   said  PhiUp. 

"  I've  not  got  that !  "  said  Segal.  "  But  let's  find  out 
about  it.  It's  just  the  thing  we  want.  Ye  Gods,  we 
might  find  a  new  comet !    Beware,  Halley  !  " 

They  appeared  at  Mr.  Cartwright's  shop  and  asked  the 
price  nonchalantly  of  a  set  of  chessmen.  '*  And  what's 
the  price  of  this  telescope  ?  "  asked  Harry  with  such  an 
exaggerated  gesture  of  indifference  that  Mr.  Cartwright 
could  not  fail  to  perceive  the  yearning  of  his  bowels. 

"  A  quid  !  "   said  Mr.  Cartwright. 

It  was  so  shattering  a  sum  that,  whereas  they  would 


164  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

have  attempted  bargaining  if  lie  liad  said,  "  Three-and- 
sixpence,"  they  now  said  brokenly,  "  All  right !  We'll 
buy  it." 

Mr.  Cartwright  was  so  astonished  at  this  acquiescence 
that,  taken  similarly  off  his  guard,  "  You  can  have  it  for 
twelve  bob  !  "   he  gasped. 

"  0 — er — I'm  sorry  !  We've  not  got  more  than  three 
just  now  !    We'll  save  up  the  rest !  " 

Quick  change  of  tactics  on  the  part  of  General  Cart- 
wright,  who  has  time  to  recover  his  breath.  "All  right !  " 
he  declared,  mouth  tight  at  the  corners,  "  Leave  that 
as  a  deposit  and  I'll  reduce  the  price  to  eighteen  and  six !  " 
he  said  munificently. 

Hence  the  telescope,  which,  though  its  actual  magni- 
fying powers  were  somewhat  scanty,  served  both  as  an- 
outward  symbol  of  their  devotion  to  stars  and  moon  and 
as  the  token  of  their  friendship.  A  new  experience  now 
entered  their  lives,  a  state,  an  exaltation,  a  mystic 
absorption  of  themselves  into  the  heart  of  night  from 
which  the  logician  was  by  no  means  immune  and  which 
he  anticipated  with  as  much  fearful  joy  as  his  friends. 
It  was  called  "going  deep,"  and  was  a  state  which  they 
could  not  cajole  or  anticipate  but  came  when  it  listed  and 
departed  as  mysteriously.  It  was  the  fine  flower  of  their 
friendship,  coming  only  at  night  during  their  contem- 
plation of  skies. 

They  would  find  as  they  talked  of  Cassiopeia  or  the 
far-flung  wing  of  Aquila  or  Vega's  blue  swords  or  the  misty 
Pleiad  sisters,  a  thinning  of  their  own  voices,  a  growing 
outward  and  aloft.  It  seemed  that  the  hulk  of  body 
lay  supine  on  the  grimy  soil  of  Doomington  while  their 
souls  quietly  adventured  among  the  high  places.  It  was 
an  ether  where  extremes  met,  the  young  logician  carried 
along  a  steep  straight  line  by  the  inherent  ecstasy  of 
Law  to  a  place  where,  by  different  curves  of  passionate 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       165 

imagination,  his  friends  had  ascended  mysteriously 
those  ladders  of  poetry  between  earth  and  heaven.  It 
was  perhaps  a  shadow  of  that  state  of  fleshly  irmocence 
towards  which  the  mystics  have  yearned,  that  state 
which  Adam  supremely  knew  when  Eve  had  not  yet 
been  torn  from  his  side.  It  was  a  state  doomed  to 
last  not  long,  to  re-occur  less  frequently  as  the  mists  began 
to  cloud  their  eyes  insistently  and  to  stifle  in  their  ears 
the  clarity  of  starry  silence.  They  did  not  know  how 
long  a  time  lasted  their  "  goings  deep  " — some  moments 
only,  perhaps,  sometimes  a  dim  trance  of  a  fleshless  hour. 
But  when  they  descended  from  those  places,  their 
chafiings  and  bickerings  were  resumed  with  difiiculty,  as 
if  their  bickering  gainsaid  a  stilled  voice  they  had  heard. 

One  incident  each  of  them  remembered  most  clearly 
out  of  this  time  of  astronomy — the  night  of  the  moon's 
eclipse.  With  various  degrees  of  difiiculty  they  obtained 
permission  to  stay  out  till  morning,  and  at  midnight 
they  met  upon  the  highest  point  of  Baxter's  Hill.  A 
moorland  air  came  wandering  in  from  the  adjacent 
country,  and  because  the  chimneys  had  ceased  for  the 
night  to  thicken  the  atmosphere,  this  strange  sweet  air 
came  timidly  towards  them,  as  a  stranger  little  welcomed 
in  these  parts.  They  lay  back  upon  the  grass  looking 
towards  those  regions  of  the  sky  where  the  moon  did 
not  yet  dim  the  stars  to  extinction.  The  telescope 
passed  from  hand  to  hand  and  they  spoke  of  the  ashen 
hollows  in  the  moon,  Segal  naming  her  features,  and 
emphasizing  placidly  how,  soon  or  late,  this  earth 
whereon  they  lay  now  should  have  exhausted  all  her 
fires. 

Very  quietly  they  spoke  in  the  still  night  air  imtil  a 
sound  of  terror  was  heard  from  some  hidden  hollow  and 
the  words  were  stricken  on  their  lips.  The  sound  was 
heard  again  and  again,  curdling  their  blood. 


IM  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  A  woman's  being  murdered  somewhere  !  "  exclaimed 
Philip. 

"  Baxter's  Hill  has  got  a  dirty  reputation.  I  wonder 
if  a  fellow's  trying  to  get  the  better  of  a  girl  1  "  Harry 
whispered. 

"  Listen  !   Isn't  it  a  rotten  sound  !  " 

The  truth  occurred  to  Segal.  "  You  prize  fools  !  Oh, 
you  ultra  prize  fools  !  "  he  cackled.  "  It's  a  sheep  ! 
Ha,  ha  !    A  sheep  !  And  you're  two  more  !  " 

They  found  the  midnight  full  of  curious  noises  in 
which  man  and  his  works  had  no  concern.  An  owl 
hooted.  A  nightjar  skimmed  an  edge  of  darkness 
silently,  then  turned  his  hoarse  wheel.  Insects  crepi- 
tated below  grasses.  The  boys  had  little  known  how 
the  watchful  forces  of  nature  crept  back  to  the  place 
Doomington  had  usurped  when,  during  the  night,  the 
town's  fumy  power  was  relaxed. 

When  at  last  the  dark  band  of  eclipse  sliced  the  rim 
of  the  moon,  Philip  was  drowsing.  Harry  seized  him 
suddenly.  Philip  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Look  !  Look  ! 
The  moon  !     The  eclipse  !  " 

Slowly  the  transformation  took  place.  The  three  lads 
stood  there  tensely  straining  towards  the  moon.  It 
seemed  that  the  world  had  no  sound  during  this  breath- 
less miracle.  No  owl  cried  and  no  sheep  Ufted  a  voice 
from  the  hollows.  The  moorland  wind  stopped,  the 
scant  grasses  did  not  move.  A  train  in  a  far  cutting 
uttered  a  startled  cry  and  subsided.  Until  out  of 
the  white  purity  was  made  a  disk  of  lurid  and  burnished 
splendour,  like  the  bossed  shield  of  a  Titan  who  strode 
across  space  while  the  issues  were  still  dubious  of 
celestial  wars. 

The  lads  waited  on  the  moor  till  dawn  came,  so  that 
the  fringe  of  that  night  should  not  be  sullied  by  their 
return  to  Doomington  dust.    Dawn  came  with  a  cool 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       167 

breath  from  the  East  and  a  line  of  pale  green  lying 
like  a  blade  on  the  far-seen  Mitchen.  A  sword  was 
swung  above  the  slopes,  glancing  with  gold  and  crimson. 
The  edge  of  the  sun  was  at  last  visible.  The  boys  made 
their  way  homeward  along  the  quiet  streets. 

As  Reb  Monash  ascended  the  pulpit  on  the  second 
morning  of  Rosh  Hashonah,  the  New  Year  festival,  to 
deliver  a  drosheh,  an  oration,  in  his  capacity  as  profes- 
sional orator  or  maggid,  the  incidents  of  the  eclipse  were 
hazily  passing  through  Philip's  mind.  For  some  time 
Reb  Monash's  utterance  was  calm  and  measured,  not 
interfering  with  the  flow  of  Philip's  recollections. 
But  a  sudden  note  of  passion  rising  and  again  falling 
away  flickered  across  Philip's  brain,  as  a  vein  of  fire 
smoulders  with  the  turning  of  an  opal,  and  when  the 
opal  is  turned  away  is  swallowed  in  pearl-mist  and  blue. 
He  was  occupying  the  seat  vacated  by  his  father  against 
the  side  of  the  Ark.  He  looked  up  towards  Reb  Monash 
who  again  was  speaking  abstractly,  evenly,  as  if  he 
were  finding  his  way  somewhither.  There  was  still  on 
his  face  a  certain  air  of  preoccupation  which  Philip  had 
noticed  all  that  morning.  It  had  been  a  morning 
signalized  also  by  a  few  low  kind  words  he  had  said  to 
Philip  which  had  touched  the  boy  curiously  ;  and, 
at  one  moment,  he  had  looked  sombrely,  gently,  into 
his  son's  eyes,  placing  a  hand  on  his  shoulder  as  if  to 
hold  him  back  from  the  darkness  towards  which  his 
steps  were  tending.  Philip  had  looked  back  uneasily 
into  his  eyes,  wondering.  A  shadow  of  so  much  sadness 
in  his  father's  face  had  produced  a  sick  yearning  in 
the  deeps  of  the  boy's  body.  His  own  eyes  had  filled 
strangely,  but  he  had  clenched  his  fists  and  set  his 
teeth.  His  father  had  turned  away  from  him  and 
walked  back  into  the  chayder,  .  .  . 


168  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Reb  Monash  standing  in  the  pulpit  became  mysteri- 
ously depersonalized.  He  became  a  force  capable  at 
one  moment  of  bringing  tears  to  tbe  eyes  of  his  harshest 
listeners  and  the  next  of  convulsing  them  with  laughter. 
Phihp  realized  from  what  deep  well  of  oratory  sprang 
that  runlet  which  had  burst  forth  upon  the  Longton 
croft  from  his  lips.  In  the  pulpit  Reb  Monash  lost  sight 
of  his  personal  sorrow  and  became  the  voice  of  the  age- 
long sorrow  of  his  race.  At  such  a  time  he  stood  like 
a  bard,  his  tallus  hanging  down  in  great  folds,  his 
voice  of  such  strength  and  sweetness  that  a  weeping 
came  from  the  women's  section  upon  its  first  syllables. 

The  first  part  of  the  morning's  oration  proceeded 
on  traditional  lines.  He  subtly  interwove  the  text  he 
had  chosen  with  the  message  of  the  festival  now 
celebrated.  Upon  single  words  he  threw  such  diverse 
and  strange  lights  that  they  were  opened  up  gallery 
beyond  gallery,  like  a  mine  of  meanings.  Each 
sentence  was  illuminated  by  his  inexhaustible  fertility 
of  quotation,  each  quotation  prefaced  by  the  "as  it 
stands  in  the  passage."  He  elaborated  each  point  by 
a  swift  "  zu  moshel'^  to  give  a  parallel.  But  all  this 
skill  was  the  routine  of  the  maggid's  profession ;  he 
had  graduated  with  these  arts  in  many  schools.  He 
was  proceeding  further  than  this ;  his  voice  still  was 
subdued,  patient,  as  if  reahzing  that  beyond  these 
thickets  was  a  clearing  of  intense  light,  if  but  steadily 
he  made  his  way.  Then  suddenly  he  emerged  from  the 
tortuous  paths  and  the  tangle  of  undergrowth,  with  a 
loud  resonant  cry  as  he  came  upon  the  clear  space  at 
the  centre  of  his  heart. 

"  But  is  it  truly  the  beginning  of  the  year  ?  Shall 
it  be  a  rejoicing  for  our  fathers  and  for  our  sons  if 
the  birth  of  to-day  is  not  a  birth  but  a  death  ?  Hayom 
harras  ohm !    But  think,  my  brothers  and  my  sisters. 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES      169 

into  what  world  the  Year,  the  Law,  came  first !  For  the 
world  was  void  and  dark,  and  the  spirit  of  God  moved 
upon  the  waters,  and  the  spirit  of  God  was  the  Law. 
The  godlings  were  of  stone  and  of  wood  whom  you 
would  kick  and  they  were  fallen  down,  and  their  number 
was  the  sands  of  the  sea.  Then  to  Abraham  and  to 
Isaac  and  to  Jacob  the  one  God  vouchsafed  Himself 
and  in  His  book  His  breath  is  fire.  How  He  was 
gracious  to  our  fathers  beyond  all  their  deserts  when, 
recollecting  the  impieties  of  Egypt,  they  made  themselves 
a  false  God,  a  Calf  of  Gold.  But  yet  He  did  not  abandon 
them,  nor  in  after  times.  Always  he  held  out  His 
right  arm  over  them,  yea  He  shattered  the  gathered 
enemies,  even  with  the  jawbone  of  an  ass  He  shattered 
them.  Whole  races  of  the  godless  were  destroyed  in 
His  love  for  the  Law  He  had  uttered  and  the  Chosen 
People  to  whom  He  had  entrusted  the  Law.  Then  our 
parents  fell  upon  evil  ways,  they  took  to  themselves 
the  daughters  of  the  Gentile,  they  no  more  circumcised 
their  sons  into  the  company  of  the  Chosen.  Too  many, 
too  many  to  tell  were  the  sorrows  that  came  down  upon 
us.  Our  vineyards  were  taken  away,  our  crops  were 
wasted,  our  daughters  stolen  away  from  us.  The  gold 
and  the  ivory  of  Solomon's  temple  were  despoiled, 
the  Holy  City  was  a  waste  of  weeds.  Yet  once  more  in 
His  goodness  Jerusalem  arose  and  once  more  in  their 
hardness  of  heart  the  people  sought  the  false  gods  : 
until  the  accursed  Titus  came  upon  us  and  the  walls 
-for  ever  fell.  By  the  waters  of  Babylon,  we  sat  down  and 
wept ;  yea,  we  wept  when  we  remembered  Zion ;  we 
hanged  our  harps  on  the  willows  in  the  midst  thereof. 
But  lo,  my  brothers,  do  not  weep  ;  my  sisters,  one  thing 
was  left  to  us,  as  a  tabernacle  in  the  wilderness,  a  dove 
on  the  void  of  waters,  a  sword  in  our  right  hand,  a 
burning  bush  ;   that  Law  which  each  year  begins  and 


170  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

ends  but  has  no  ending.  For  upon  it  once  again  when 
the  years  of  the  gollus  are  numbered  shall  the  Temple 
be  rebuilt.  Yea,  when  the  trumpet  shall  sound,  the 
corpses  of  the  Chosen  shall  be  awakened;  they  shall 
rise  from  their|graves  and  roll  from  the  scattered  lands, 
beyond  seas  and  hills,  once  more  to  the  hills  of  Zion. 
How  shall  the  gems  on  the  breast  of  the  High  Priest 
shine  and  his  garments  be  of  dazzling  white !  How  a 
Miriam  shall  sing  a  sweeter  song  on  further  shores  of 
deeper  waters  and  more  divinely  cloven  than  the  waters 
of  the  Red  Sea  !  Then  at  last  shall  Moses  arise  from  his 
undiscovered  grave  to  enter  that  land  he  had  but  seen 
afar  off.  The  land  shall  be  flowing  with  milk  and 
honey  and  the  grapes  on  the  vines  be  fat.  Our  matrons 
shall  be  fruitful  with  blessed  children  and  our  daughters 
be  glad.  The  Law  shall  be  as  a  sign  upon  the  fore- 
head of  our  sons. 

How  it  shall  all  be  forgotten,  the  valley  of  the  shadow, 
the  centuries  of  gollus  !  Did  our  fathers  lie  on  the  rack 
of  the  Spaniards  and  were  their  thumbs  torn  from  their 
hands  ?  It  shall  be  as  a  mist  of  ten  years  gone  by. 
There  were  they  crouched  in  cellars,  old  6o66^es  leaning 
against  the  damp  walls,  an  old  zadie  reading  by  the 
little  candle  of  the  goodness  of  the  God  of  Israel.  The 
boys  looked  up  listening  with  shining  eyes.  There  was 
the  sound  of  bursting  doors,  but  the  old  voice  did  not 
falter.  There  was  the  clatter  of  iron  boots  down  the 
stone  stairway  ;  but  there  was  no  ceasing  in  the  praise 
of  God.  And  though  the  old  men,  the  women,  yea,  the 
children  sucking  still  quietly  at  their  mothers'  breasts, 
were  tied  against  stacks  of  wood,  and  the  flame  with- 
held if  they  but  forswore  Israel,  still  was  the  Law  to 
them  like  a  cool  cavern  full  of  the  fragrance  of  God, 
even  in  the  very  centre  of  fire. 

Pogrommen  have  there  been  in  those  lands  whence 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       171 

we  have  come  ?  Who  shall  remember  them  ?  Though 
the  babies  were  torn  from  the  wombs  of  mothers, 
and  maidens  violated  in  the  streets  at  noon,  all  shall 
be,  because  the  Law  has  been  given  to  us,  as  dust  in 
the  roadway ! 

But  hold  I  What  do  I  say  ?  If  once  more  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  shall  build  them  a  Calf  of  Gold,  if  they 
shall  turn  to  the  heathen  things,  who  shall  keep  back 
the  lightnings  of  God,  our  God  strong  in  love  but  terri- 
ble in  jealousy  ?  Shall  not  we  be  utterly  swept  away 
till  there  is  no  memory  of  our  defeats  and  no  trace 
of  our  victories  ?  Shall  it  all  be  vain,  the  rack,  the  fire, 
the  mother  disembowelled  in  pregnancy  ? 

I  say  to  you,  look  at  our  children,  for  a  bad  spirit 
has  come  into  these  lands.  I  say  not  to  you,  our 
brothers  and  sisters,  but  to  you,  to  you,  our  children, 
keep  ye  your  goings  within  the  fold  of  the  Law  !  Have 
you  need  then  of  pogroms  and  swords  that  you  shall 
remain  with  God  ?  Because,  in  this  place.  He  has  with- 
held them,  thank  Him  for  that  He  loves  you  more. 
Behold,  age  behind  age  our  sufferings  and  our  triumph 
go.  Bring  it  not  all  to  naught.  Make  not  the  blood- 
shed to  be  useless  as  water.  For  the  air  is  thick  with 
the  voices  of  the  dead,  saying :  '  Hold,  hold  by  the 
banner  of  Israel !  Let  it  not  fall  from  you  !  Proudly 
we  held  it  though  the  blood  dripped  from  our 
fingers ! ' 

Lo,  our  children,  you  make  us  to  you  as  strangers,  you 
harden  our  hearts  with  anger.  But  we  are  ready  with 
our  love  for  you  when  you  follow  upon  our  ways, 
which  are  the  ways  of  the  countless  dead.  Let  not  for 
little  things  our  heritage  be  squandered ;  let  not  the 
Maccabsean  banner  be  smirched,  nor  false  gods  enter  into 
our  tabernacles  which  we  build  now  upon  a  w^andering 
thousandfold  bitterer  than  the  forty  years.     We  lift 


172  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

out  our  arms  to  you.     Join  us  in  singing  the  Lord's 
song  !    May  the  next  year  see  us  in  Zion  !  " 

There  were  one  or  two  looked  with  alarm  upon  the 
face  of  PhiHp  staring  from  the  wall  against  the  Holy 
Ark.  His  face  was  bloodless,  his  eyes  round  as  if  in 
nightmare.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  when  Reb  Monash 
came  weakly  down  from  the  pulpit.  No  one  knew  where 
to  turn  his  eyes.  As  his  father  came  nearer  to  resume 
his  seat,  Philip  gave  a  sudden  convulsive  start,  then  fell 
jerkily  towards  the  form  where  he  had  sat  before  the 
drosheh.  A  tiny  whispering  arose  in  the  congregation,  as 
of  leaves  after  a  windless  noon  when  a  first  breeze  shakes, 
or  of  still  waters  rufiled.  The  parnass  uttered  a  deep 
oi  I  oi !  absently  clapping  his  hands  three  or  four 
times  ;  the  weeping  of  the  women  decreased  ;  the  men 
bent  towards  each  other  and  talked.  Some  one  ascended 
the  pulpit  to  begin  the  second  part  of  the  service. 

Reb  Monash  had  chosen  well ;  for  that  preoccu- 
pation which  had  held  his  face  all  that  morning  now 
held  his  son's  for  the  rest  of  that  day.  After  dinner 
he  lay  down  on  the  sofa  thinking  heavily  ;  he  neither 
spoke  a  word  with  his  mother  nor  picked  up  a  book. 
He  had  answered  too  easily  all  the  questions  hfe  had 
offered  him.  Was  it  too  late  to  begin  thinking  clearly 
now  ?  Were  his  conclusions  correct  by  accident  or 
were  all  his  conclusions  mere  self -flattery  ?  No  formula 
to  help  him  through  the  mists  of  doubt  which  were 
swarming  round  him  came  his  way.  Late  that  night, 
when  shool  and  the  evening  meyeriv  service  were  over, 
he  walked  out  towards  Baxter's  Hill,  under  the  light 
of  stars.  It  was  not  long  that  he  moved  onward  like 
a  sluggish  water.  A  wind  came  from  somewhere  afar 
ofi  and  set  into  motion  the  mists  in  his  head.  More 
and  more  quickly  they  whirled  within  him,  and  then, 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       173 

swiftly,  they  were  gone.  He  rose  skywards  from  his 
feet.  Without  pain  or  pleasure,  all  that  issue  which 
had  racked  him  this  day  became  thin,  remote.  He 
moved  on  the  shores  of  a  sea  where  the  sands  were  stars, 
and  the  sea  was  the  great  womb  of  the  undefined, 
where  all  things  were  not,  but  God  was.  Trembling, 
aghast,  he  stood  on  the  arch  of  the  sweep  of  sands, 
hearing  incoherent  murmurings.  Towards  a  black- 
ness cool  and  clear  he  stood  where  foam  and  wind  beat 
into  his  face.  He  turned  from  the  voices  of  sea  and 
bent  down  dabbling  his  fingers  among  the  star-sands. 
He  rose  and  walked  stepping  from  rock  to  rock  to  the 
channel  where  the  Milky  Way  flowed  inward  from  the 
sea.  On  the  bank  of  the  Milky  Way,  he  stopped  once 
more  and  lifted  in  his  hands  a  handful  of  grass.  Be- 
yond the  slope,  the  dim  waters  of  Mitchen  moved  through 
the  night.  He  leaned  for  some  minutes  drowsing 
against  a  tree  trunk,  then  turned  towards  the  vague 
hulk  of  Baxter's  Hill.  "It's  over !  "  he  whispered. 
"  I  know  !  " 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  was  noon  on  the  Day  of  Atonement  which  followed 
nine  days  after  the  Rosh  Hashonah  memorable  to 
more  than  one  by  the  oration  of  Reb  Monash,  noon  in. 
Cambridge  Street,  a  thoroughfare  in  Doomington  far 
removed  from  the  region  of  the  synagogues,  which,  fox 
this  day,  were  crowded  from  dawn  to  dusk  by  the  day- 
long worshippers.  The  most  pious  did  not  move  from 
within  their  precincts;  the  less  pious  withdrew  occa- 
sionally to  the  immediate  environs.  All  who  were 
sacrilegious  on  all  the  other  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
four  days,  on  this  day  rigidly  fasted,  and,  having  no 
regular  pew  in  a  regular  synagogue,  were  devoutly 
glad  to  pay  for  the  privilege  of  any  pew  in  any  synagogue. 
If  they  gainsaid  or  were  indifierent  to  the  precepts  of 
their  faith  on  other  days,  who  could  forswear  the 
immemorial  terror  of  this  day  ?  If  they  had  been 
building  all  the  year  a  palisade  between  Heaven  and 
themselves,  on  this  day,  who  knew,  they  might  enter 
Heaven  through  a  breach  in  the  palisade.  On  the 
night  concluding  Yom  Kippur  many  looked  forward 
to  the  impieties  of  the  morrow  as  if  these  had  been 
annulled  in  anticipation.  But  most  felt  that  if  all 
else  were  demode,  Yom  Kippur  stood  august  beyond 
fashion.  Even  the  great  jewellery  and  general  em- 
poria  of  Doomington  shut  their  doors,  though  they 
exhibited  a  note  to  the  effect  that  cleaning  operations 
were  in  progress,  so  that  their  credit  with  their  more 

m 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       175 

Nonconformist  customers  might  remain  unimpaired. 
Bob  Cohen,  who  lived  with  a  goyahy  a  Gentile  lady, 
all  the  year  round,  became  entirely  oblivious  of  her 
existence  for  these  twenty-four  hours,  in  a  synagogue 
several  towns  away  from  the  scene  of  his  amour.  In 
shool  his  fervent  contrition  was  only  drowned  by  the 
self-reproaches  of  the  penitents  whose  perpetual  state 
was  the  strictest  matrimonial  chastity.  Avowed 
atheists  put  in  an  appearance  despite  all  their  logic. 
There  were  few  Jews  in  Doomington  that  day  beyond 
the  circumference  of  a  circle  whose  radius  was  half 
a  mile  in  any  direction  from  the  Polisher  ShooL 

Hence  it  was  surprising  to  see  Alec  Segal  in  a  shop 
doorway  far  up  Cambridge  Street  on  the  afternoon  of 
Yom  Kippur.  It  added  to  the  surprise  to  find  Harry 
Sewelson  join  him  after  some  minutes,  for  the  four 
parents  of  these  youths,  emancipated  to  the  pitch  of 
transferring  a  kettle  to  and  from  the  fire  on  sJiahhos, 
were  yet  very  far  from  the  transgression  of  this  ulti- 
mate sanctity ;  a  sanctity  of  such  awe  as  might  over- 
whelm spirits  even  of  the  defiant  alooTness  of  Segal 
and  Harry. 

"  You're  late  1  "  said  Segal. 

"  Three  minutes  !  " 

"  Six  and  a  half  to  be  precise  !  " 

"  You'll  be  taking  notes  of  how  long  your  neck's 
in  the  noose  before  you're  dead.  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  and  make  a  graph  of  the  parabola  of  my 
descent.  But  why  are  you  late  ?  Called  in  at  a  public- 
house  en  route  ?  " 

"  No  fear !  I've  had  a  drink  at  the  scullery-tap,  it 
was  a  little  less  ostentatious.  I  suppose  you've  had 
a  drink  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  hid  a  bottle  of  lemonade  in  my  mattress  !  " 
declared  Segal  cunningly. 


176  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

**  I'm  not  thirsty  but  Fm  jolly  peckish.  My  elder 
Bister  fainted,  so  I  had  to  take  her  home.  As  for  Esther — 
you  know,  my  other  sister — she's  only  fifteen,  but  she's 
dead  nuts  on  fasting.  Queer  thing,  the  less  she  puts 
down  the  more  she  brings  up  !  She's  been  sick  all 
day !  " 

"  But  that  young  scoundrel's  not  turned  up  yet ! 
I  wonder  if  anything's  wrong  ?  " 

"  He's  all  right.  His  father  doesn't  stir  a  foot  out 
of  the  Polisher  Shool ;  he'll  have  had  an  opportunity 
to  prig  something  to  eat  and  drink  !  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  can  have  backed  out  ?  "  Segal 
suggested. 

*'  I  don't  think  it's  likely.  He  may  be  walking 
backward  to  draw  attention  away  from  his  bowler  hat. 
He  doesn't  like  bowler  hats  !  " 

"  Or  he  may  be  writing  a  poem  in  a  dark  corner, 
being  only  young  and  somewhat  foohsh.  He'll  grow 
out  of  the  first  as  time  goes  on." 

"  Yes,  he's  amusing  enough.  But  isn't  that  the 
illustrious  bowler  hat  ?  " 

"  Hello  !  Here  we  are !  I  say,  bowler  hat,  have 
you  seen  Phihp  Massel  ?  " 

"  He's  just  coming !  "  said  Phihp,  appearing  at 
last.  *'  Well,  he's  come !  I'm  starving,  where's  the 
shop  ?  " 

"  You've  been  at  a  banquet  with  Sir  Timothy  and 
the  City  Fathers  ;   else  why  so  late  ?  "   insisted  Harry. 

"  My  mother  was  fearfully  faint,"  rephed  Phihp 
awkwardly.  "  I  didn't  like  to  leave  her.  It's  a  crime 
for  her  to  fast,  she's  so  weak  nowadays  !  It's  not  been 
so  bad  for  me,  with  some  packets  of  biscuits  at  home 
and  a  copy  of  Milton  for  shool.  But  let's  come  along  !  " 

The  boys  walked  up  Cambridge  Street  and  turned  to 
the  right  towards  a  bridge  over  the  Deadwater  Canal. 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       177 

They  passed  through  the  door  of  an  eating-house  and 
the  fat  smells  of  frying  enveloped  them  unpleasantly  ; 
they  chose  a  table  in  a  corner  and  sat  before  a  lake  of 
spilled  gravy  and  the  tin  utensils. 

"  It  feels  rather  shifty,  all  this  !  "  ventured  Philip 
after  a  few  moments. 

"  Look  here,  lad,  don't  be  conscientious  at  this 
time  of  day  !  "   remonstrated  Segal. 

"  I  mean  when  you  thiDk  of  the  old  men  and  the 
sick  women  who're  a  sight  worse  off  than  we  are  !  " 

"  Now,  Philip,"  interposed  Harry,  "  You  know  quite 
well  it's  not  the  beastly  food.  It's  a  symbol  of  freedom  ! 
We're  not  going  to  be  enslaved  any  longer  under  the 
heel  of  these  daft  old  superstitions.  Vive  la  liberie 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing !  I  positively  don't  feel 
like  eating  now,  as  a  matter  of  fact ;  the  stink's  rather 
thick.  You  know.  Alec,  you  might  have  chosen  some- 
thing more  encouraging  than  this  hole." 

*'  Phew  !  "  from  Philip.  "  I  prefer  the  smell  of  the 
Polisher  Shool !  " 

"  We  can't  afford  anything  better.  I  should  have 
preferred  the  New  Carlton  myself,  I  admit !  " 

"  There' d  be  too  many  Jews  there  !  It  would  be  too 
public !  "  Harry  affirmed. 

"  Well,  young  fellers,"  said  a  dishevelled  lady  at 
this  stage,  "  wot  are  ye  going  to  'ave  ?  Say  it 
slick !  " 

"  Ham  and  eggs  all  round  !  "    said  Segal  lordlily. 

"  Righto  !  "     The  lady  was  busthng  off. 

"  Hold  on  !  "  Philip  shouted  after  her  concernedly. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you,  cock  ?  " 

"  What  else  have  you  got  ?    I  won't  have  ham  !  " 

*'  What  about  fish  and  fried,  saucy  ?  " 

"  Thank  you  !  "  Philip  muttered  gratefully. 

"  What  do  you   mean   by  it  ?  "   exclaimed   Harry 


178  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

indignantly.  "  What  do  you  want  to  spoil  the  show 
for  ?  " 

"  You  can  call  me  a  blooming  prig,  if  you  like,  and 
be  blowed  I  I  think  ham's  overdoing  it,  that's  all ! 
It's  not  playing  the  game  I  " 

"  Don't  be  a  kid !  What's  your  objection  to  the 
miserable  animal  ?  I  thought  you'd  got  over  all 
that !  " 

"  I  thought  so  too,  but  I  think  a  chap  can  choose 
another  sort  of  day  for  ham  !  What's  the  good  of  piling 
it  on  like  this  ?  " 

**  Do  you  mean,"  asked  Harry,  "  that  you've  just 
shoved  your  head  out  of  the  burrow  of  superstitions, 
like  a  rabbit,  and  are  going  to  dive  down  again,  scared  ? 
I  thought  you  were  more  consistent  than  that.  Per- 
sonally I  should  prefer  beef,  but  I'm  sacrificing  my 
inclinations  precisely  because  ham  is  a  symbol." 

"  It's  not  a  symbol !    I  call  it  cheek  !  " 

"  Cheek  my  fat  aunt !    You're  funking  it !  " 

"  You  can  say  what  you  like  !  You  can  stufi  your 
own  mouth  with  the  muck  !  I'm  not  going  to  choke 
for  your  sake  !  '* 

"  But  what  of  all  your  wonderful  talk  about  freedom 
and  advancing  with  the  new  race,"  Segal  asked  quietly, 
"  and  all  the  good  old  moonshine  ?  " 

"I  just  think,  if  you  want  a  symbol,  fried  fish  on 
Yom  Kippur  is  as  useful  as  ham.  It's  what  d'you  call 
it  ?  it's  irreverent  somehow,  insisting  on  ham !  Yes, 
that's  it !    It's  irreverent !  " 

"  It's  certainly  expensive  !  "  declared  Segal  with 
an  air  of  finaUty.  When  the  food  came  at  last,  the  three 
boys  hardly  touched  either  ham  or  fish.  They  had,  at 
least,  stood  up  for  the  principle  of  emancipation ! 
And  ham,  moreover,  is  a  difficult  commodity  between 
unaccustomed  jaws. 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       179 

"  It's  time  I  got  back  !  "  said  Philip,  at  the  point 
where  Cambridge  Street  merged  into  more  familiar 
territory.  *'  He'll  be  getting  restive  about  me  !  " 

"  There's  a  comet  in  the  offing !  "  declared  Segal. 
"  To-morrow  night  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  night,  and  let  your  ham  rest  quiet  in 
your  bellies !  " 

Philip,  after  entering  the  Polisher  Shool,  spent  a 
little  time  with  his  mother,  not  yet  being  of  an  age 
when  a  masculine  presence  raised  perturbation  in  the 
women's  section.  When  he  advanced  towards  his  own 
seat,  his  father  frowned  a  question  upon  him.  "  iVw, 
and  where  so  long  ?  " 

"  I've  been  feeling  sick ! "  Philip  replied  truth- 
fuUy. 

'*  Sit  thee  down  then  and  open  thy  machzer  I  It  is 
at  this  place  one  holds  !  Omit  thou  no  word  !  " 
"  I  hope  you  are  feeling  all  right,  tatte  ?  " 
"  How  should  I  feel  ?  'Tis  weU  with  me  !  " 
Around  his  head  the  chanting  and  the  weeping 
gathered  volume.  The  voice  of  Mr.  Herman  on  the 
pulpit  was  choked  with  crying  and  his  usual  ornamenta- 
tions were  now  wholly  absent  from  his  dehvery.  The 
hands  of  Mr.  Linsky  thundered  contrition.  The  face  of 
Reb  Yonah  was  drenched  in  tears.  To  Philip  it  seemed 
that  the  voices  of  all  these  moaning,  swaying  men  had 
been  hfted  for  age  beyond  age.  It  was  as  if  he  stood  in  a 
dark  country  where  large  boulders  stood  greyly  from 
the  uneven  ground  ;  the  air  was  full  of  lamentations  ; 
the  sky  was  compact  with  lightless  cloud.  If  but  the 
dome  were  rifted,  if  but  through  that  blue  division 
there  came  among  these  boulders  and  this  lamentation 
the  sharp  shaft  of  wind — the  boulders  would  subside 
into  sand,  there  would  be  no  lamentation  ;  there  would 


180  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

be  flowers  in  green  hollows,  and  water  in  willowy  places  ; 
if  but  the  dome  were  rifted,  if  but  a  wind  blew.  .  .  ." 

Philip  was  tired  of  vain  imaginings.  As  long  prayer 
succeeded  long  prayer,  the  tedium  of  the  day  gripped 
him.  He  remembered  the  Milton  in  his  pocket  and,  with 
a  thrill  of  dangerous  delight,  drew  it  forth  carefully. 
Oh,  it  was  important  to  take  the  utmost  care !  Good 
Lord,  if  he  were  found  out,  what  on  earth  would  happen  ? 
Could  anything  happen  proportionate  to  the  crime  ? 
His  machzer,  fortunately,  was  a  large,  protective  book  ! 
He  leaned  the  Milton  against  its  yellow  pages  and  turned 
stealthily  to  "Comus."  Was  there  any  poetry  like 
"  Comus  "  in  the  world  ?  What  savour  it  gained  from 
contact  with  these  present  sights  and  sounds  !  How 
fair  was  the  lady,  and  how  the  rhymes  were  like  bells 
at  morning ! 

Enraptured  he  turned  page  upon  page  of  "  Comus." 
"  Comus  "  was  ended.  Reb  Monash  was  shaking  in  his 
corner  there,  by  the  Ark,  his  face  pale  with  the  fast. 
All  was  safe.  He  turned  to  "  Allegro  "  and  "  Penseroso." 
Never  had  he  known  poetry  to  taste  so  fresh,  like  cheese 
and  fine  bread  among  the  hills.  He  turned  to  the  *'  Ode 
on  the  morning  of  Christ's  Nativity." 

See  how  from  far  upon  the  eastern  road 

The  star-led  wizards  haste  with  odours  sweet.  .  .  . 

What  lines  were  these,  flawless  in  music,  divinely 
simple  ! 

The  star-led  wizards  haste  with  odours  sweet.  .  .  . 

How  much  loveliness  in  how  little  space  !       "  Star- 
led,"     the    exquisite    phrase !  .  .  .     "  Star-led "... 
Now  to  the  "  Hymn  !  .  .  ." 
But  a  law  of  gravitation  greater  than  he  might  under- 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       181 

stand  brought  his  eyes  from  his  book,  bent  backward 
his  head,  lifted  his  eyes  into  the  eyes  of  his  father 
staring  down  from  above  upon  his  book. 

Then  PhiUp  reahzed  blindingly  the  significance  of 
this  moment : 

.  .  .  The  son  of  heaven's  eternal  King, 

Of  wedded  Matd  and  Virgin  Mother  horn.  ,  .  . 

and  once  more, 

.  .  ,  The  heaven-horn  Child 

All  meanly  wrapt  in  the  rude  manger  lies.  .  .  . 

Into  the  inmost  centre  of  the  very  heart  of  his  father's 
faith,  the  faith  of  those  innumerable  dead  who  for  the 
many  centuries  had  looked  upon  this  day  as  the  climax 
of  their  childhood  in  Jehovah,  upon  this  Yom  Kippur 
whose  mere  utterance  was  a  fear  and  a  great  light, 
into  the  synagogue's  self,  at  the  very  doors  of  the  Holy 
Ark  where  lay  the  Law  pregnant  with  history,  he  had 
introduced  .  .  .  the  "  wedded  Maid,"  the  "  heaven- 
born  Child  "  .  .  .  ! 

Down  from  his  father's  eyes  it  seemed  that  two 
actual  shafts  of  flame  descended  into  his  own  eyes, 
burning  like  an  acid  through  the  pupils  beyond  the 
sockets,  into  the  grey  stuff  of  his  brain.  A  sweat  stood 
upon  Philip's  forehead,  and  a  chill  then  seemed  to  hold 
it  there,  like  a  circle  of  ice.  The  fire  in  his  father's 
eyes  shrivelled ;  there  came  a  hollow  shadow  of  un- 
utterable pain ;  a  sigh  fell  weakly  from  his  lips.  He 
staggered  towards  the  door  for  air. 

He  returned  and  said,  "My  son,  throw  it  away, 
throw  thyself  away  !    Let  me  not  see  thee  again  !  " 

Philip  hid  the  book  among  the  dilapidated  Prayer 
Books  at  a  corner  of  the  women's  section  and  returned 


182  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

to  his  machzer.  Not  once  did  his  father's  eye  meet 
his  own  during  the  rest  of  the  day.  When  Reb  Monash 
and  his  wife  were  proceeding  homewards  after  the  fast 
and  Philip  made  a  movement  as  to  accompany  them, 
Reb  Monash  stared  with  cold  eyes  and  motioned  him 
to  stand  away. 

The  end  had  come.  Channah  sitting  with  wet  eyes 
on  a  corner  of  the  sofa  knew  it.  Mrs.  Massel  in  the 
scullery  Ufting  her  apron  to  her  eyes  and  sobbing  ever 
so  quietly  knew  it.  Philip  in  the  darkness  of  the  empty 
chayder  with  his  head  between  his  hands  knew  it. 
Reb  Monash  knew  it,  breaking  his  fast  in  the  kitchen, 
saying  not  a  word. 

The  next  morning  Reb  Monash  turned  to  Mrs.  Massel. 
PhiUp  was  in  the  room.  "  He  must  go  somewhere ! 
He  cannot  sleep  here  to-night !  He  has  broken  me, 
let  him  not  stay  to  laugh  in  my  face  !  " 

"  What  can  he  do  ?    Where  can  he  go  ?  " 

"  I  know  not !  He  must  go  !  "  There  was  no  doubt- 
ing the  finality  of  his  command. 

Not  a  word  passed  between  Philip  and  his  father. 
Mrs.  Massel  dared  not  trust  herself  to  utter  a  sound 
until  Reb  Monash  had  gone  upstairs  for  his  afternoon 
nap. 

"  Nu,  Feivele,"  she  ventured  then,  "  seest  thou 
what  has  befallen  us  ?  God  knows  I  have  not  too  many 
years  to  see  thee  in  .  .  .  and  now  this  black  year ! 
Schweig  den,  schweig,  Feivel !   What  shall  be  with  us  1  " 

Channah  reahzed  that  it  lay  with  her  to  take  the 
initiative. 

'*  Mother,"  she  urged,  "  all  will  be  well !  You  mustn't 
upset  yourself  like  this  !  The  thing  we've  to  talk  about 
now  is  what  we're  going  to  do  with  Philip  !  " 

"  Yes,  what  ?  "  PhiUp  asked  helplessly. 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       183 

"  We've  understood  for  a  long  time  it  was  going  to 
end  up  like  this,  there  was  nothing  else  for  it.  We  were 
talking  about  it  only  last  week.    She  said  ..." 

"  Who  said,  Channah  ?    Who  do  you  mean  ?  " 

''  I  mean  Dorah  !  She  said  you  were  wasting  the  old 
man  to  a  shadow  and  she  was  going  to  put  a  stop  to 
it,  for  father's  sake  and  everybody  else's  !  " 

"  Wasting  to  a  shadow  !    What  about  mother  ?  " 

"  I  know  !  But  I  didn't  say  anything  !  You  know 
what  it's  like  to  argue  with  Dorah  !  But  she  was  going 
to  see  father  about  it,  sooner  or  later,  and  now  that  this 
has  happened  .  .  .  well,  we'd  best  go  and  see  her  at 
once !  " 

"  Not  one  word  didst  thou  say  to  me  !  "  complained 
Mrs.  Massel. 

"  It's  bad  enough  now  we've  got  to ;  what  dost  thou 
want  more,  mutter  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  but  what  are  you  driving  at,  Channah  ?  What's 
the  idea  ?  " 

"  She's  going  to  put  up  a  bed  for  you  in  her  back- 
room. Benjamin  keeps  a  lot  of  stock  there  now,  but  they 
can  put  a  little  under  your  bed  and  the  rest  on  the  land- 
ing. You  can  pay  her  so  much  a  week  while  your 
scholarship  lasts,  and  if  you  don't  get  another,  well, 
she  says  you'll  just  have  to  go  in  for  tailoring  or  some- 
thing ;  or  Benjamin  can  take  you  on  his  rounds." 

"  Oh,  hell !  "  groaned  PhiHp. 

There  had  never  been  much  sympathy  between  his 
elder  sister  Dorah  and  himself.  Although  the  fact 
was  rarely  referred  to  among  the  Massels,  Reb  Monash 
and  his  wife  were  already  a  widower  and  a  widow 
respectively  when  they  were  married,  Reb  Monash 
bringing  Dorah,  and  Mrs.  Massel  Channah,  to  the 
union.  Their  only  children  were  Rochke,  who  died  so 
tragically  on  the  exodus  of  the  family  from  Russia, 


184  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

and  Philip,  bom  some  time  later  in  Doomington. 
The  common  parent  between  Dorah  and  Philip,  there- 
fore, was  Reb  Monash,  and  the  long  conflict  between 
the  father  and  son  had  rendered  less  and  less  substan- 
tial the  affection  between  the  brother  and  sister.  Dorah, 
a  tall,  squared-jawed  angular  woman,  was  in  some  ways 
more  masculine  and  more  forbidding  than  Reb  Monash, 
and  in  all  ways  more  evident  to  the  eye  in  her  Longton 
household  than  her  demure  husband,  Benjamin,  whose 
main  concerns  in  life  were  his  wife's  temper  and  the 
state  of  his  samples.  From  time  to  time  she  had 
startled  Philip  with  sudden  spurts  of  generosity, 
but  these  had  become  increasingly  rarer  during  the  last 
two  years. 

"  There's  no  way  out  of  it !  "  asserted  Channah. 
"  And,  after  all,  mother,  it's  only  twenty  minutes' 
walk  away.  Besides,  there's  the  tram  up  Blenheim 
Road !  " 

The  three  made  their  appearance  before  long  at 
Dorah's.  They  found  her  already  in  possession  of 
the  main  facts,  as  she  had  sent  Benjamin  down  that 
morning  to  find  out  how  the  family  was  feehng  after 
the  fast  and  Benjamin  had  met  Reb  Monash  proceed- 
ing to  Longton.  They  had  both  accepted  the  hospi- 
tality and  the  lemon-tea  of  Mr.  Levine,  the  parnass,  who 
had  ushered  them  in  from  the  door  of  his  furniture 
shop.    Benjamin  had  rendered  his  report  duly. 

With  Channah,  Dorah  was  monosyllabic.  Philip  she 
ignored. 

"  From  where  he  takes  this  godlessness,  mutter,'' 
she  said  in  Yiddish,  "  I  imderstand  not !  A  shkandal 
it  is,  over  the  whole  neighbourhood  !  " 

"  He  is  growing  older,  he  will  understand  more. 
Folg  mir,  Dorah,  he  will  be  a  good  Jew  yet !  " 

"  Would  that  one  saw  the  least  sign  !    I  have  made 


FORWARD  FROM  PHYLACTERIES       185 

his  bed  for  him,  with  a  perinny  on  top  and  a  perinny 
below.    He  will  be  comfortable  !  " 

'*  Oh,  mother,  don't !  "  broke  in  Ohannah.  "  Don't ! 
It's  not  far  from  Angel  Street !  You'll  be  able  to  see  her 
every  day  after  school,  won't  you,  Philip  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  said  Philip  thickly,  "  Every  day  !  He'U 
be  sleeping  !  " 

Dorah  turned  to  Philip  for  the  first  time.  "  Well, 
you'd  best  go  home  and  get  your  things  ready !  Will 
you  want  to  bring  all  those  books  ?  " 

"  I  must  have  my  books  !  " 

"  He  can  take  away  the  bookcases  I  made  for  them  !  " 
declared  Mrs.  Massel.  "  The  books  will  not  be  in  thy 
way !  " 

*'  Loz  shen  zein !  Let  it  be,  then !  Well,  he  will  need 
a  handcart.  Our  greengrocer  has  one.  I'll  send  him 
down  at  eight  o'clock  !  " 

A  miserable  drizzle  was  falling  as  Philip  gathered 
the  collection  of  books  he  so  much  prized  and  placed 
them  on  the  dirty  brown  sacking  of  the  handcart. 
Angel  Street  was  more  dark  and  wretched  than  the 
Angel  Street  of  any  of  his  memories.  His  mother 
stood  on  the  doorstep  forlornly,  coughing  heavily  now 
and  again  in  the  rain  and  wind.  He  had  laid  the  soap- 
box bookcases  she  had  made  for  him  over  his  books  and 
the  man  was  securing  the  whole  load  under  a  final  layer 
of  sacking  with  coils  of  coarse  rope. 

"  I'm  going  now,  mamma  !  "  He  kissed  her  drawn 
face. 

"  Go,  my  little  one  !  " 

As  the  cart  splashed  over  the  greasy  setts  of  Angel 
Street  through  the  damp  darkness,  she  still  stood 
watching,  rain  in  her  hair  and  soaking  her  blouse. 
Slightly  she  lifted  her  hands  towards  the  receding  boy. 


186  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

He  looked  back  and  saw  her  still  standing  there.  He 
came  back  swiftly  and  covered  her  face  with  kisses. 
But  as  he  again  withdrew,  again  she  stood  there  emptily. 
Whither  did  her  lorn  figure  bring  back  his  mind  ? 
Whither  ?  Somewhere  long  ago,  far  ofi !  Then  he 
remembered.  He  remembered  his  image  of  her  alone 
in  the  Russian  darkness,  when  the  dead  child  had  been 
taken  from  her  arms.  She  had  stood  there  emptily  as 
now  .  .  .  But  the  handcart  was  lurching  round  into 
Doomington  Road.  .  .  . 


BOOK  III 
APHRODITE 

CHAPTER  XI 

SUCH  then  was  the  spiritual  adolescence  of  Philip 
Massel,  and  such,  as  lately  described,  the  situation 
which  was  its  inevitable  result — a  result  not  wholly  un- 
foreseen by  one  or  two  minor  characters  in  the  drama 
of  his  boyhood.  In  some  senses  the  intellectual  was 
the  more  spectacular  element  of  his  development ; 
but  the  budding  of  his  physical  faculties,  the  suffusion 
of  all  his  blood  with  sex,  proceeded  pauselessly  through 
this '  troubled  time.  The  strands  of  growth  are,  of 
course,  inextricably  intertwined,  and  this  account  has 
followed  too  rigidly  the  threads  of  Philip's  spiritual 
history.  It  must  return,  therefore,  to  a  phase  which 
only  by  a  little  space  followed  the  emergence  of  Social- 
ism above  Philip's  horizon,  and  by  a  little  space  preceded 
that  episode  with  Bertha  which  demonstrated  his  curi- 
ous simplicity. 

We  turn  then  to  a  budding  in  Doomington  Road. 
A  group  straggle  within  and  without  the  rays  of  a  lamp 
which  illuminates  a  corner  formed  by  Walton  Street 
and  the  road  itself.  There  is  much  tittering,  a  little 
whispering,  and  a  youth  raucously  is  singing ! 

Press  your  Ups  on  my  lips. 

Your  dear  Uttle,  queer  little,  shy  lips. 

187 


188  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

It  was  only  ten  minutes  ago  that  Policeman  Pig-nob 
(as  he  is  derisively  termed)  passed  this  way,  with  basest 
intentions  upon  Aphrodite. 

It  is  nought  to  him  whether  there  be  a  gathering 
together  for  the  mere  barren  breeding  of  money  or  for 
a  far  holier  purpose — the  ultimate  propagation  of  an 
antique  race.  Any  gathering  together  at  any  street 
corner  suggests  to  him  disrespect  towards  the  corpu- 
lent Doomington  abstraction  who  is  the  Chief  Constable, 
and  is  liable  to  be  misinterpreted  as  an  incipient  move- 
ment against  the  Monarchy  and  Balmoral,  (which  he 
inaccurately  places  in  the  Strand  near  the  lofty  pillar 
where  Cleopatra  stands  with  a  blind  eye  and  a  cocked 
hat  looking  towards  the  City  Temple  ;  for  PoHceman 
Pig-nob  is  a  Free  Churchman  and  to  him  the  City 
Temple  is  almost  unsurpassed  in  sacredness  by  the  Chief 
Constable's  detached  villa  itself  or  His  Britannic  Majesty's 
Balmoral).  It  is,  I  have  recorded,  but  ten  minutes  ago 
that  Policeman  Pig-nob  passed  this  way  and  dispersed 
the  Aphrodisiac  gathering.  The  males  folded  their 
tents  like  the  Arabs  and  as  silently  stole  away.  The 
females,  having  ascertained  even  so  soon  the  Sanctuary 
which  is  their  flesh,  stood  their  ground.  Imagine, 
therefore,  their  horror  when  Pohceman  Pig-nob,  not 
merely  with  pohciary  rudeness,  shone  his  bull's-eye  into 
their  faces,  (decorated  in  two  cases  with  pink  face- 
powder  and  in  one  with  mauve),  but,  forsooth,  pulled 
the  admired  hair  of  one  of  their  number  ;  and  not, 
finally,  Janey's  hair  or  Ethel's  or  Lily's  somewhat 
skimpy  hair,  but,  I  adjure  you,  Edie's  very  hair ! 
Edie's  !  The  lovely  thick  brown  hair  of  the  Queen  of 
Walton  Street !  Not  that  Janey,  Ethel,  Lily  and  their 
attendant  virgins  were  not  madly  jealous  of  Edie  and 
her  positively  cattish  success  with  the  boys,  but  really 
.  .  .  the  rights  of  the  sex.  .  .  .    Pohceman  Pig-nob 


APHRODITE  189 

.  .  .  Edie  .  .  .  and,  as  the  most  recent  immigrant  from 
Russia  betrayed  herself  into  exclaiming  ..."  a  chalery 
soil  im  nemen  I  a  cholera  should  him  take  !  " 

As  silently,  as  swiftly  as  they  had  faded,  the  boys 
re-entered  the  fiery  joint  circle  of  Love  and  the 
Walton  Street  lamp.  Edie  stood  picturesquely  sobbing 
in  the  shadowed  doorway  of  a  shop.  Over  her  Harry 
Sewelson  stood  proud  guard,  awaiting  the  moment 
when  a  silk  -  handkerchief ,  requisitioned  from  the 
paternal  estabhshment,  might  plead  for  him  a  de- 
votion which  her  tears  but  cemented  like  glue.  In 
this  direction  too  the  heart  of  Philip  Massel  yearned 
sickly,  albeit  Ethel  was  murmuring  seductively  to  him 
"  dear  little,  queer  little,  shy  lips  !  " 

For  the  time  of  the  budding  of  Philip  Massel  had  come  ; 
yet  even  in  his  budding  Phihp  was  fastidious.  It  was 
no  use,  he  decided.  He  could  not  bud  and  burgeon  to- 
wards Ethel.  This  very  decision  seemed  to  make 
Ethel  ache  the  more  intensely  towards  the  stimulation 
by  Philip  of  her  own  florescence.  You  could  not  avoid 
kissing  Ethel  amid  the  permutations  and  combinations 
of  Shy  Widow  and  Postman's  Knock,  particularly  as 
she  tenderly  called  for  you  to  join  her  in  the  lobby's 
darkness  much  more  frequently  than  you  called  for  her. 
This  was  most  particularly  the  case  at  her  own  birthday 
party,  when  out  of  sheer  animal  gratitude  for  the 
smoked  salmon  sandwiches  you  received  from  her  hands 
— well,  what  else  could  you  be  expected  to  do  ?  But, 
alas,  when  you  kissed  Ethel,  you  could  not  fail  to  notice 
how  frequently  the  nose  of  Ethel  assaulted  either  your 
left  or  your  right  cheek. 

But  as  for  Edie — ah,  do  not  speak  of  Edie  !  For  her 
nose,  by  some  miraculous  diaphaneity  or  impalpabiUty 
of  love,  seemed  dimly,  if  at  all,  existent  when  the 
felicity  of  kissing  Edie  came  your  way — too  rare  felicity, 


190  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

for  who  but  Harry  Sewelson  hulked  before  you  on  that 
faint,  fair  road  to  Edie  ? 

If  the  expression  may  be  allowed,  at  first  Philip  did 
not  bud  enthusiastically.  Once  more  his  intellectual 
timidity  asserted  itself ;  particularly  when  Harry, 
whose  interest  in  girls  had  declared  itself  somewhat 
suddenly,  very  completely  and  some  months  ago,  had 
attempted  to  convince  Philip  by  cogent  intellectual 
argument  that  the  time  had  arrived  for  the  widening 
of  Philip's  sphere  of  interest.  Philip  had  as  yet  been 
aware  of  little  physical  encouragement  and  less  emo- 
tional. And  it  seemed  an  act  of  dehberate  malice  on  the 
part  of  Providence,  an  act  calculated  to  arrest  abruptly 
for  a  period  of  time  his  "  widening  "  (until  such  time 
as  the  gathered  forces  would  break  sharply  through  the 
crust  of  distaste),  that,  first  of  feminine  contacts, 
brought  Ethel's  nose  into  coUision  with  Philip's  cheek. 
No  act  of  quixotry  towards  a  promptly  smitten  lady 
could  impel  Philip  to  turn  the  other.  It  was  fortunate, 
therefore,  that  Edie's  lips  made  their  appearance  to 
obscure  this  nasal  disquietude.  And  with  Edie's  lips, 
suddenly  there  came  to  Philip  a  knowledge  of  some- 
thing softer  than  flowers  and  more  fragrant  than  any 
breath  in  a  garden  after  rain.  Her  hair  covered  her 
with  a  warmth  and  her  hands  were  at  once  soft  and 
nimble.  She  said  little,  for  she  had  little  to  say,  but 
she  disposed  her  innumerous  wares  with  such  naive 
artifice  that  she  suggested  calm  deep  wells  into  which 
her  bucket  rarely  dipped.  She  was,  in  fact,  a  plump  and 
pretty  little  girl,  alluring,  secret,  a  little  conceited.  She 
realized  with  pleasure  the  vague  suggestion  of  unholi- 
ness  contained  in  any  relation  with  the  atheistic  Harry, 
but  she  observed,  flattered,  with  what  immediacy 
Harry  usurped  her  for  his  own  when  he  stormed  the 
citadel  of  Walton  Street  and  ousted  her  other  lovers 


APHRODITE  191 

with  the  flick  of  a  cynical  tongue.  With  premature 
womanishness  she  was  conscious  of  the  piquant  contrast 
the  figure  of  Harry  afforded  beside  her  own  :  the  hard 
acute  angles — the  curves  ;  the  eloquent  tongue — the 
tongue  more  enchanting  in  its  silences  than  in  its 
speech ;  the  grey,  quick  eyes — the  indeterminate 
brown ;  the  lips  whose  kisses  were  incisions  of  steel — 
the  lips  which  were  like  night,  sweet,  odorous. 

On  the  recommendation  of  Harry,  an  invitation  to 
Janey's  birthday  party  was  sent  to  Philip.  The  problem 
of  a  birthday  present  troubled  him  less  than  on  his 
previous  and  first  visit  to  such  a  ceremony,  the  occasion 
upon  which  he  had  met  and  conquered  Ethel ;  for  then, 
even  after  he  had  included  a  bottle  of  Parma  Violet 
Scent  with  a  box  where  he  had  glued  seven  halfpenny 
coins  in  a  quaint  design  on  the  inner  side  of  the  lid, 
he  had  been  perturbed  lest  he  had  not  used  sufiicient 
halfpennies  for  real  generosity.  At  Janey's  birthday 
party,  however,  all  such  considerations  had  been  drowned 
in  a  fortuitous  kiss  he  had  bestowed  on  Edie.  (It  had 
been  a  game  which  had  lasted  till  every  possible  com- 
bination had  been  exhausted  and  each  pair  of  female 
lips  knew  every  pair  of  male). 

But  it  was  rare  that  these  successful  and  unsuccessful 
adolescent  amours  knew  the  shelter  of  four  walls — 
birthday  parties  were  as  infrequent  as  they  were  splendid. 
Hence  it  was  that  the  corner  of  Walton  Street  each 
evening  saw  the  gathering  of  adolescents,  in  which 
behold  Philip  included,  criminally  weaned  for  a  time,  I 
grieve  to  say,  from  the  Anabasis  and  even  impaired  in 
his  adherence  to  Karl  Marx.  And  if  Reb  Monash 
inquired  "  Why  so  late  ?  "  or  "  Whither  going  ?  " 
and  Philip  answered  "  The  Library  !  "  it  had  been  true 
at  least  on  two  occasions  upon  which  he  had  made  that 
reply.    The  epoch  of  street-corner  flirtation  had  set  in, 


192  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

and  among  strange,  misty  places  went  tlie  wits  of 
Philip  woolgathering. 

Alec  Segal  looked  on  aloof,  amused.  He  had  much 
eloquence,  introspective  and  extraspective,  at  his 
command.  Yet  there  was  none  of  the  Walton  Street 
ladies  concerning  whom  he  wove  garlands  of  words. 
If  the  development  of  his  adolescence  was  impressed 
upon  his  conscious  mind,  and  it  was  unlikely  that  he 
had  not  been  mentally  tabulating  all  his  states  as  they 
succeeded  each  other,  he  had  made  no  verbal  comments 
to  his  younger  friends.  "When  Harry  was  found  em- 
broiled in  the  passages-at-arms  of  which  Walton  Street 
was  the  witness,  Alec  was  interested  and  looked  wise. 
When  Philip  fought  weakly  and  fell  in  these  same 
encounters.  Alec  still  remained  silent,  but  a  shade  of 
the  sardonic  settled  more  fixedly  on  his  lips. 

The  whole  of  this  new  development  was  chaotic, 
obscure,  a  blind  impulsion  towards  new  things  some- 
what alien  from  his  other  loyalties — if  Edie's  lips  were 
not  to  be  taken,  as  in  his  equivocal  poetic  mind  he 
tended  to  take  them,  as  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  poesy. 
With  a  little  discomfort  he  would  observe  from  time  to 
time  Alec  Segal  standing  thin  and  cryptic  at  the  out- 
skirts of  the  Walton  Street  mel6e ;  standing  there  for 
one  moment  or  two  as  if  he  were  biding  his  time,  and 
then  behold.  Alec  was  no  more  there. 

"  Alec !  "  he  would  demand,  "  Why  do  you  come 
tip-toeing  in  like  that  ?  It  gives  a  chap  the  creeps  ! 
If  you  come,  can't  you  stay  a  bit,  and  if  you  can't 
stay,  why  on  earth  do  you  come  ?  You're  like  a 
family  ghost  creeping  about  corridors  and  grinning 
from  the  battlements.  You're  a  grisly  beast. 
Alec  !  " 

Alec  would  rub  his  left  forefinger  along  the  curved 
line  of  his  nose. 


APHRODITE  193 

"  Nothing,  my  son  !     I'm  just  waiting  !  " 

"  Waiting  for  what  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  !  Everything's  waiting,  so  am 
I !  What's  the  moon  waiting  for  when  she  stops  short 
at  midnight  ?  I'm  just  waiting !  Some  of  us  are 
made  to  keep  on  moving,  like  Harry,  for  instance, 
and  some  of  us  to  wait !  But  don't  question  your 
grandfather  1    It's  disrespectful !  " 

One  evening  Harry,  Alec  and  Philip  were  walking 
down  the  lonely  track  called  Chester  Street  which  led 
beyond  the  police  station,  through  dark  fields  barren 
of  buildings,  into  Blenheim  Road.  They  were  pro- 
ceeding from  a  party  which  had  been  undiluted  misery 
to  Philip  and  had  given,  therefore,  at  least  so  much  food 
for  interested  analysis  to  Alec,  Even  Harry  was 
subdued.  The  party  had  been  a  thorough  failure. 
Edie  had  lost  her  forfeit  and  had  been  requested  to 
kiss  the  boy  she  liked  best  in  the  room.  There  was  a 
breathless  quiet  as  with  downcast  eyes  she  halted 
a  moment  and  then  walked  demurely  towards  the  face 
of  the  nincompoop,  George  something-or-other.  He 
was  not  even  a  scholar  of  a  Doomington  higher  school. 
He  was,  it  was  rumoured,  attached  to  the  "job  and  fent " 
line.  He  had  lank  black  hair  greasily  retreating  in 
equal  mass  from  an  undeviating  central  line.  His 
cheeks  were,  it  was  true,  very  silky.  His  mouth  was 
endurable.  But,  indisputably,  he  was  a  boob.  WTiat 
if  his  father  was  a  master  tailor  ?  After  all,  there  are 
higher  social  grades  than  master  tailorhood  ;  even  if 
the  mere  fact  of  a  scholarship  does  not  put  you  secure 
above  aU  considerations  of  social  status.  And  Edie 
had  kissed  George. 

It  was,  of  course,  a  deadly  snub  for  Harry  ;  but  how 
much  more  deadly  for  Philip,  who  immediately  before 


194  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

had  himself  been  obliged  to  kiss  the  girl  he  liked  best 
in  the  room,  and  had  proceeded  with  ardent  shyness 
to  his  lady's  throne  and  the  uninterested  Ups  of  Edie. 

"  There's  no  idealism  in  them  at  all !  "  reflected 
Harry  bitterly.  "  I  don't  think  they  know  what  love 
means  !  Here's  a  chap  ready  to  sacrifice  his  shirt  for 
them,  a  chap  many  girls  would  jump  at !  And  then 
what  happens  ?  A  dolt  with  sleek  hair  turns  up,  and 
a  Cheshire  grin,  and  they're  round  his  neck  and  licking 
his  feet !  It  isn't  only  that  they've  got  no  taste — you 
know.    They've  got  no  self-respect !  " 

"  Be  more  explicit,  Harry !  "  Alec  interposed. 
"  Don't  shirk  the  issue— and  Edie  !  " 

*'  They're  all  the  same — absolutely  ungrateful  and 
heartless  !  I'm  going  to  be  a  monk,  a  Trappist,  I 
think  !  Trappism's  a  profession  invented  specially  for 
me!" 

"  What  ?    Because  a  little  minx  .  .  ." 

*'  Don't.  .  .  .» 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Harry ;  you  said  they  were  all  the 
same !  I  agree.  Why  are  you  specially  put  out  about 
Edie  then  ?  You  didn't  object  to  the  beefy  arm  of 
Lily  wandering  round  George's  waist,  did  you  ?  " 

"Not  a  scrap  of  difference  —  Lily's  beefy  arm, 
Edie's  beefy  soul  .  .  .  !  " 

"  Look  here  !  "  Philip  broke  in  miserably.  "  It's 
no  good  slanging  her.  I  suppose  if  she  likes  him  better 
she's  entitled  to  be  his  girl  instead  of  somebodv 
else's." 

"  A  little  raw,  Philip  ?  "  Alec  asked. 

"  Of  course  I'm  not !  I  don't  care  what  she  does  ! 
I  didn't  notice  her  all  evening  !  " 

"  Oh,  you  liar  !  " 

"  You  looked  glum  enough  when  she  chose  that 
fellow,  didn't  you  ?  "  taunted  Harry. 


APHRODITE  195 

"  Headache,  I  suppose  !  And  even  if  I  did  look 
glum,  and  I  don't  say  I  did — you  needn't  rub  it 
into  a  chap.  Besides,  in  any  case,  I  didn't  look 
glum  !  " 

"  Your  logic's  masterful  as  usual,  Philip  !  " 

"  The  point  is  not  Philip's  logic  but  the  heartlessness 
of  women  !  "  Harry  insisted.  "  What's  to  be  done 
about  it  ?  " 

"  The  only  thing  to  be  done  about  it,"  declared  Alec, 
"  is  to  look  the  fact  in  the  face,  that's  all !  You  must 
have  no  illusions  about  them  !  You  must  stare  them 
straight  in  the  eyes  and  beyond  1  Let  'em  know  they're 
not  deceiving  you  with  their  little  tricks  !  Strip  ofi 
the  illusions,  I  say  !  " 

"  I  suppose  by  *  illusions '  you  mean,"  said  Philip, 
"  all  that's  jolly  about  'em  and  make  'em  different  from 
us  !    No,  it  won't  work  !  " 

"  There  isn't  anything  different  about  us  !  We're 
all  alike  !  Strip  them  naked  and  it's  just — Body, 
Sex !  " 

"  What  on  earth  are  you  driving  at  now  ?  "  Philip 
asked,  frightened. 

"  Only  this — that  it's  about  time  you  .  .  .  Hello  ! 
Look  here !  What  on  earth  .  .  .  what  on  earth's 
this  ?  " 

They  had  come  to  the  darkest  part  of  Chester  Street. 
Alec's  foot  had  stumbled  against  something  large  and 
soft.  The  boys  stopped.  Harry  lit  a  match  and  they 
saw  a  bundle  before  them  wrapped  in  a  white  sheet. 
It  was  large  and  bulky  and  tied  at  the  top  in  loose 
knots. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  Philip  asked. 

"  Washing,  perhaps  ?  "  Alec  speculated. 

"  Open  it !  "  Harry  demanded  peremptorily.  "  It 
might  be  anything  1  " 


196  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  it  ?  Perhaps  it's  something 
dropped  from  a  removal  cart,  eh  ?  "  wondered  Alec. 
"  But  I  hardly  think  so,  it's  lying  so  steadily  on  its 
bottom,  as  if  it  had  been  put  there  deliberately.  I 
think  we'd  best  take  it  along  .  .  .  Hello  !  Listen ! 
I  say  !    It's  crying  !    Good  God,  can  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,  Alec !  "  Harry  exclaimed, 
"  Don't  stand  theorizing  !  "  He  bent  down  and  untied 
the  knots  swiftly.  "  Light  up !  "  he  commanded, 
pushing  his  matches  into  Philip's  hand. 

Harry  uttered  a  startled  cry. 

"A  baby!" 

"  Ye  gods,  a  baby  !  " 

And  in  truth,  wrapped  in  a  blanket  and  lying  in  a 
soft  heap  in  a  clothes-basket,  a  minute  baby  lay,  whining 
feebly  and  curling  its  infinitesimal  fingers. 

"  The  kid'U  die  of  cold  I  We  must  get  it  out  of  the  way 
at  once !  " 

"  Not  a  day  old  !  "  Alec  mused. 

"  Get  a  move  on,  for  God's  sake !  Where  shall  we 
take  it  ?  " 

"  The  police-station  just  along  !  "  Philip  suggested. 

"  Yes,  the  very  place  !  "  Harry  took  off  his  great- 
coat and  placed  it  over  the  top  of  the  basket.  "  Here, 
Alec,  take  hold  of  the  other  handle  !  " 

The  baby  was  delivered  into  the  hands  of  an  inspector, 
summoned  by  a  policeman  who  refused  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  the  case.  The  inspector  scrutinized  the  three 
lads  suspiciously,  as  if  he  were  ready  to  believe  that  one 
or  the  other  of  them  was  the  father  of  the  child.  They 
made  their  statement  and  at  length,  reluctantly,  he 
allowed  them  to  withdraw. 

"  By  Heaven  !  "  muttered  Harry,  "  What  a  swine 
the  man  is  !  " 

"  Who  do  you  mean  ?  "   asked  Alec,  who,  now  that 


APHRODITE  197 

the  practical  matter  had  been  discharged  and  they 
were  once  more  entering  the  immaterial  world  of  thought, 
reassumed  the  elderliness  of  his  voice  and  manner. 
"  Who  do  you  mean,  vague  youth,  is  a  swine  ?  The 
inspector  1  " 

"No!    The  father!" 

"  Yes,  I'm  with  you  !    But  what  about  the  mother  ?  " 

"  Fancy  a  mother  behaving  like  that !  "  Philip  won- 
dered. 

"  That's  just  what  I  mean  !  The  woman  behaved 
perfectly  naturally.  Parents  only  keep  their  children 
because  other  people  do.  They're  not  really  interested 
in  children.  My  parents  are  not  interested  in  me  and 
I'm  not  fearfully  interested  in  them.  It's  only  a  sort  of 
crust  of  habit,  and  the  parents  of  this  child  wouldn't 
allow  it  to  form.  John  Smith  and  Mary  Brown,  let's  call 
them.  I  declare  that  John  Smith  and  Mary  Brown  are 
just  natural  and  sensible  people — they  had  their  fling — 
Body,  Sex  !  That's  to-night's  party  and  John  Smith 
and  Edie  and  the  baby  in  the  cradle  all  reduced  to  their 
elements  !  Body,  Sex  !  It's  as  simple  as  an  equation 
in  Algebra  !  "  (Alec  invariably  ended  his  ratiocina- 
tions with  a  flick  of  the  fingers — a  *  so  easy,  you 
know  1) 

The  incident  had  filled  Harry  with  nausea.  The 
disillusionment  at  the  party,  the  check  to  his  pride  it 
had  involved,  the  callous  abandonment  of  the  child  in 
the  bare  croft,  had  combined  to  produce  in  him  an 
indignation  of  cynicism. 

**  You're  right !  "  he  declared.  **  It's  Sex,  pure  and 
simple!    It's  aU  dirt !  " 

"  And  you,  Philip  1  " 

"  What  do  I  know  about  it  ?    Go  on  !  " 

Philip  listened,  fascinated  and  repelled.  At  least  the 
philosophy  of  Segal  offered  a  coherent  explanation  of 


198  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

to-night  and  the  other  nights.  The  whole  theme  was 
virgin  to  him,  but  the  method  of  attack  was  so  deadly- 
calm,  so  impersonal,  that  he  was  impelled  to  follow. 
He  was  conscious,  moreover,  that  other  people,  not 
least  Harry  and  Alec,  did  not  exclude  this  branch  of 
Hfe  from  their  horizon  ;  why,  then,  should  he  ?  It 
was  all  so  different  from  the  filth  of  Angel  Street ; 
here,  if  soul  played  no  part  or  little  in  this  interpreta- 
tion, mind  at  least  was  not  absent.  There  was,  he  did 
not  dare  to  confess  to  himself,  a  quaint  furtive  pleasure 
in  it  all.  .  .  . 

**  Go  on !  "  he  said,  breathless  to  advance,  and  half- 
inclined  to  flee. 

Alec  Segal  talked.  For  one  hour,  two  hours,  they 
paced  from  corner  to  dark  corner  of  Chester  Street. 
There  were  but  few  interruptions  from  Harry  and  none 
from  Philip.  Only,  as  Alec  talked,  Philip  felt  sometimes 
that  he  would  like  to  lie  down  on  the  cold  kerb  to  cry — 
simply,  childishly,  to  cry.  And  he  felt  creeping  round 
him  like  a  mist,  a  deadlier  loneliness  than  had  ever 
beset  his  heart,  a  loneliness  that  now  crept  and  eddied 
through  his  being  in  chill  wisps.  Oh  for  the  brown 
eyes  of  his  mother,  so  innocent  and  so  wide  with  know- 
ledge !  For  the  bloom  was  fading  from  the  world  ; 
the  freshness  was  passing  away.  Friendship  was  passing 
away.  Hitherto  he  had  stood  alone,  self-sufficient. 
Now  the  new  preoccupations  must  assail  him,  wean 
him  from  his  old  friends.  Wean  him,  oh  sorrowful,  oh, 
surely  false,  from  his  mother !  Lead  him  towards 
insubstantial  things  waiting  somewhere  to  hold  him  ! 
And  these  things  reached  towards  his  friends,  were 
interposed  between  them  and  him.  They  had  been 
complete  and  single  once,  these  friends,  despite  all  the 
flaws  in  their  unity.  They  were  but  provisional  and 
dependent  now,  as  he  was  himself  to  be  henceforward. 


APHRODITE  199 

Pain  which  had  a  core  of  delight,  delight  which  was 
gilded  dust ! 

The  three  youths  parted.  As  they  moved  in  different 
ways,  night,  it  seemed  to  PhiUp,  engulfed  them  separately 
bringing  unbridgeable  division.  Night  swallowed  some- 
thing of  boyhood.  Manhood  came  stalking  towards 
Philip  out  of  the  vast.  Manhood  placed  a  finger  on  his 
young  forehead.  A  sad  boy  slept  that  night  in  Angel 
Street,  sad  and  wise. 


CHAPTER  XII 

DORAH  was  a  tall,  raw-boned  woman,  carrying  all 
tlie  implicit  angles  of  Reb  Monash  to  an  explicit 
extreme.  In  the  civil  strife  at  Angel  Street  Ler  S5niipatliy 
had  always  been  on  the  side  of  tradition  and  Reb 
Monash,  as  against  licence  and  Philip.  Channah  like- 
wise had,  in  a  weak  and  somewhat  hopeless  way,  taken 
sides.  Not  openly,  not  with  unabashed  self -declaration, 
and  far  less  through  philosophy  than  sentiment,  she  had 
been  steadily  at  Philip's  side — when,  at  least,  she  was  not 
absorbed  in  her  collection  of  Vesta  Tilley  post  cards  and 
her  long  waitings  at  gallery  doors  for  the  performances 
of  Lewis  Waller  or  Martin  Harvey. 

The  veins  of  Dorah's  temper  were  less  easily  tapped 
than  Reb  Monash's,  but  when  tapped,  they  yielded 
richer  ore.  When  her  temper  was  at  its  most  ex;uberant, 
her  voice  was  of  a  dovey  stillness  which  boded  much 
woe.  But  the  contradiction  in  her  household  which  most 
concerned  Philip  was,  in  a  word,  weak  tea.  So  well 
defined  and  dark  and  abrupt  was  Dorah,  that  one  would 
have  imagined  that  tea  of  her  brewing  would  be  raven 
as  Acheron.  Yet  it  was,  in  fact,  as  weak  as  a  rickety 
child.  It  was  tepid.  It  was  served  in  a  large  pint  mug, 
so  that  its  quantity  the  more  ruthlessly  exposed  the 
invariable  defects  of  its  quality.  Much  and  cold  milk 
annihilated  its  last  semblance  to  the  potent  brews  of 
Angel  Street  and  copious  sugar  rendered  it,  at  length, 
unpleasant  as  an  inverse  castor  oil. 


APHRODITE  201 

Compare  with  weak  tea,  tea  almost  leonine  ;  also 
cherries  in  the  skim  of  milk,  and  Mrs.  Massel  sitting 
hard  by,  humming  happily  like  a  kettle,  or  moving  about 
the  kitchen  with  happy  bird-like  noises,  and  producing 
finally  a  remnant  of  Saturday's  kuggel  (which  is  a  thick 
brown  soft  pudding  with  many  raisins  and  a  celestial 
crisp  crust) !  .  .  .  Until  the  shuffling  of  Reb  Monash's 
feet  overhead  might  be  heard,  and  there  is  the  last 
gulping  of  tea  and  swallowing  of  kuggel,  and  the  lifting 
of  a  laden  satchel  of  books,  and  from  Philip's  lips  a 
fatuous  "  So  long,  old  mother,  toodle-oo  !  "  which 
is  a  valediction  juvenile  indeed  from  the  lips  of  a  young 
man  to  whom  at  last  the  secrets  of  the  universe  have  been 
laid  bare,  from  the  genesis  of  the  baby  to  the  real  nature 
of  God  and  the  perfidy  of  Edie.  .  .  . 

"  So  long,  old  mother  !  " 

Since  the  exodus  from  Angel  Street,  relations  between 
Philip  and  his  father  had  not  been  clearly  defined. 
Philip  still  descended  from  Longton  each  Saturday 
morning  to  accompany  Reb  Monash  to  the  Polisher 
Shool.  He  had  at  first  been  extremely  reluctant  to  go, 
but  Dorah  threatened  unstated  oppressions,  and  though 
tea  could  hardly  have  been  more  pallid,  Philip  felt  it 
wise  to  fall  in  with  her  request.  He  still  came  down  to 
join  in  festival  meals,  but  no  word  of  intimacy  passed 
between  them.  In  shool,  the  watchful  eye  of  Reb 
Monash  no  longer  guarded  Philip's  Prayer  Book  lest 
two  pages  be  turned  over  in  place  of  one  ;  which  very 
remission  compelled  Philip  to  reiterate  the  cryptic 
prayers  with  a  blank,  dull  fidelity. 

Thus,  therefore,  though  they  were  on  conversational 
terms  with  each  other,  as  a  man  might  be  with  a  youth 
he  disliked  or  feared  but  in  whom  he  was  compelled  to 
take  an  interest,  out  of  loyalty  towards  a  dead  friend, 


202  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

invariably  the  awakening  of  Reb  Monasb  brought 
about  the  dissolution  of  such  a  cherry-seance  as  I  have 
spoken  of.  For  Mrs.  Massel  and  her  son  had  now  made 
a  tacit  pact  by  which  Philip  always  came  home  from 
Doomington  School  via  Angel  Street  instead  of  by  the 
upper  road  to  Longton  called  Brownel  Gap.  It  meant 
an  uninterrupted  hour  with  his  mother,  and  these 
months,  howsoever  disastrous  and  dark  the  day  might 
be  before  and  after  this  golden  hour,  were  their  halcyon 
days. 

"  And  yet,"  apprehensively  muttered  Philip  to  him- 
self, "  how  thin  she  is  getting  !  " 

"  Mother !  "  he  would  say,  "  Aren't  you  well  ? 
Can't  you  take  something  ?  You  don't  look  half  so — 
you  know — half  so  fat  and  jolly  as  ordinary  mothers 
do.  Look  at  Alec  Segal's  mother  !  She  adds  another 
chin  every  month  and  she  keeps  on  getting  further 
out  in  front !  You  don't !  What'U  we  do  about  it, 
mother ;  it  can't  go  on,  you  know  !  " 

"  Channah,  God  bless  her ! "  she  would  reply, 
"  out  of  her  hard-earned  wages — and  you  know  how 
much  he  makes  her  bring  into  the  house — and  then  her 
new  dress  she's  bought  for  Betsy's  wedding,  it's  all 
purple  like  wine,  a  par-shane,  that's  what  the  dear  girl 
looks,  a  beauty  straight  out  of  the  picture  book  !  Vesta 
Tilley  me  thou  no  Vesta  Tilleys  !  Going  on  the  stage 
like  a  boy,  smoking  cigarettes  !  But  she  always  wears 
wigs  !  Perhaps  she  wants  to  make  herself  out  a  daughter 
of  Israel,  with  her  wearing  wigs  !  Well,  if  she  ever 
dresses  up  like  an  honest  woman,  I  say  Channah's 
new  back  comb,  even  if  it  hasn't  got  real  diamonds,  is 
just  as  lovely  as  Vesta  Tilley's  !  Don't  forget  the 
sugar  in  thy  tea,  Feivele  !  " 

"  Yes,  right,  mother !  But  what  about  Channah, 
her  hard-earned  wages  ?  " 


APHRODITE  208 

"  Oh  yes  !  My  head,  my  head  !  Thou  dost  not  get 
thy  brains  from  my  old  silly  head,  Feivele  !  Nu,  where 
were  we  !  Yah  !  I  was  saying,  out  of  her  hard-earned 
wages,  cod-Hver  oil  she  buys  me,  and  sometimes  two 
fresh  eggs  she  buys  me  !  The  extravagant  girl,  two 
fresh  eggs !  Make  me  a  poetry  out  of  two  fresh  eggs  ! 
It's  all  right  making  poetry  out  of  trees  and  rivers  ! 
Thou  hast  ever  seen  trees  and  rivers,  yes  ?  No  !  Ah, 
those  were  takke  trees  by  the  Dneister,  and  that  was  a 
river  in  a  thousand  !  Will  I  ever  smell  again  the  grass 
in  the  fields  by  the  river,  when  they  cut  it  and  it  lies 
in  heaps,  and  the  moon,  it  comes  up  like  a  feather ! 
This  is  not  for  me,  Feivele  !  But  when  I'm  dead, 
Feivele.  .  .  ." 

"  No,  no,  no,  mother !  Look  here,  I  don't  think 
you  ought  to  talk  like  that !    It  isn't  sensible  !  " 

"  I  mean  over  a  hundred  years — thou  shalt  see  a  lot 
of  countries  and  bills  and  thou  shalt  smell  the  grass  cut 
by  the  river,  maybe  thou  shalt  see  even  the  Dneister ! 
Perhaps  my  brother  Benya's  daughter — she  is  how 
many  years  old,  eight,  nine — perhaps  she  wiU  be  a 
studentka  and  thou  wilt  teach  her  English  and  she  will 
teach  thee  Russ  and  you'll  get  married — and  thy  old 
mamma,  she'll  not  be  there  to  see  !  " 

"  Mother,  it's  not  decent  of  you  !  You  talk  like  that 
more  and  more,  I  don't  know  why,  and  if  you'd  only 
take  more  care  of  yourself,  you  could  be  the  Fat  Woman 
in  a  show  !  " 

"  I'm  sorry,  son,  I'm  sorry,"  covering  up  her  traces 
wistfully,  "  I  mean  I'll  be  over  the  sea  in  Angel  Street, 
and  you'll  not  want  to  wait  till  you  come  to  England, 
thou  and  Rivkah — yes,  yes,  Rivkah  is  her  name,  God 
bless  her  I  before  you  get  married  !  " 

Some  days  later,  after  another  sitting  where  conver- 
sation ranges  over  continents  and  stars,  and  there  is  no 


204  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

fatigue  in  their  wings — "  Say,  mother !  here's  two 
more  new-laid  eggs !  I  think  one's  a  duck's,  does  it 
matter  ?  " 

"  Oh  a  katchky  !  A  big  blue  katchky's  egg !  Oh, 
Feivele,  where  didst  thou " 

"  Now  don't  ask  !  And  anyhow,  I've  been  sick  of 
Longfellow  for  ages  !  " 

"  See,  I'll  boil  it  now  !  There's  time  before  he  comes 
down  !    Thou  wilt  have  half  !  " 

Stoutly,  "Nothing,  nothing!  It's  yours!"  The 
egg  is  boiled.  Sacredly,  as  if  duck-egg-eating  were  a 
holy  rite,  Mrs.  Massel  eats  her  duck's  egg.  Once  or 
twice  she  throws  in  fervent  appreciations  of  the  race 
of  katchkies.  Philip  half  hopes  her  cheeks  will  here  and 
now  take  on  a  shade  more  colour  from  the  nourishment 
he  has  provided  for  her  out  of  the  disposal  of  Evange- 
line. Her  face  still  is  pale,  and  there  are  still  drawn 
Hues  at  the  mouth.  Ah  well,  only  wait  till  she's  taken 
a  lot  more  cod-liver  oil  and  a  lot  more  new-laid  eggs, 
including  as  many  katchkies  as  discarded  poets  will 
provide.  .  .  . ! 

"  Feivele,  he  comes  !  " 

"  Humph — ho  !  I'm  going  !  Oh,  look  at  your  hands, 
how  liny  and  seamy  they  are  !  Come,  do  leave  those 
brasses  alone,  they're  so  much  work  !  And  you  know, 
when  you  don't  clean  'em  the  only  difference  is  they 
look  like  copper  instead  of  brass  !  Ototototoi !  I  must 
be  off,  I  suppose  !  What  fat  cherries  they  were — like 
babies  !  Well,  you  huge  bullying  monster  of  a  mother, 
till  to-morrow,  till  to-morrow !  " 

So  the  months  passed,  with  their  half-surreptitious 
visits  to  Mrs.  Massel,  which  gained  something  of  their 
too  short  dehght  from  their  shallow  secrecy.  At  the 
extremes  of  the  day,  there  were,  on  the  one  hand,  school, 
on  the   other  hand,  Walton   Street.     At   school  he 


APHRODITE  205 

generally  maintained  an  unambitious  head  above  the 
waters,  still  fitfully  persecuted  by  his  fellows,  or  ignored, 
or  dimly  tolerated  as  one  who  took  no  interest  in 
societies,  sports  and  camps,  but  from  whom  no  positive 
evil  was  to  be  expected,  saving  sometimes  an  ugly 
spurt  of  temper  which  did  not  cringe  even  before  the 
towering  creatures  who  at  all  other  times  carried 
universal  terror  in  their  wake.  At  the  other  extreme 
of  the  day  were  the  sporadic  flirtations  in  Walton 
Street  which  began  somewhat  to  lose  their  attractions 
as  he  moved  towards  his  sixteenth  year.  There  were 
subfusc  rumours  about  the  migration  of  Alec  Segal's 
family  to  another  town  for  reasons  unspecified.  Harry 
Sewelson  became  entangled  with  two  barmaids  and  a 
German  governess  successively.  The  simpering  graces 
of  the  Edie  menage,  it  is  grievous  to  add,  began  to  wear 
thinner  and  thinner,  excepting  for  the  grosser  souls 
of  a  George  or  a  Willy  Levi  the  Barber.  Moreover, 
Philip  had  received  so  feeble  a  move  as  a  consequence 
of  an  Edie-deteriorated  school  year,  that  he  determined 
violently  to  regain  his  academic  self-esteem.  Of  the 
fact  that  he  became  a  competitor  for  the  five-pound 
prize  to  be  awarded  to  the  greatest  authority  on  Chaucer 
in  the  middle  school  at  Doomington,  Philip  had  left 
Dorah  unaware.  She  was  ready  to  expend  over  him  the 
vials  of  her  maternal  love  (she  had  no  children)  only 
as  soon  as  he  consented  to  be  what  she  termed  "  a 
Jew  among  Jews."  The  history  of  Angel  Street  had 
taught  her  the  futility  of  positive  compulsion  in  this 
direction.  But  she  placed  before  her  the  definite 
policy  of  treating  PhiUp  in  a  manner  neither  hostile 
nor  affectionate,  until,  maybe,  the  sheer  force  of 
frigidity  brought  him  creeping  to  the  warmth.  Whilst 
Philip  had  spent  all  the  evening  in  the  pursuit  of  Edie's 
lips  instead  of  in  the  pursuit  of  a  high  place  in  form, 


206  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

she  had  merely  said  nothing.  When  now  till  a  late 
hour  he  began  to  concern  himself  with  his  school  work 
and  his  tales  of  Chaucer,  she  said  nothing  still,  and  was 
told  as  little.  But  likewise  Philip  said  nothing  to  his 
mother.  Suppose,  and  after  all  many  of  his  competi- 
tors were  in  senior  forms,  suppose  he  should  fail  badly  ! 
Only  Channah  was  his  confidante,  and  from  her  he 
obtained  the  gift  of  a  certain  most  desirable  complete 
Chaucer  which  Cartwright  had  displayed  in  his  curi- 
osity shop  for  fruitless  months. 

Philip  still  remembered  the  almost  dizzy  delight 
he  had  occasioned  his  mother  by  the  winning  of  a  mere 
form  prize  as  second-in-class  two  years  ago.  She  still 
treasured  it  alongside  of  her  Yiddish  translations  of 
Holy  Writ,  in  the  most  intimate  recess  of  her  cupboard. 
Not  a  word  was  intelligible  to  her,  of  course  ;  she  was 
capable  even  of  holding  the  book  upside  down.  Yet 
she  would  carefully  wipe  her  spectacles  and  proceed 
to  move  her  eyes  in  leisurely  transports  from  page  to 
hieroglyphic  page.  She  was  so  much  attached  to  the 
book  that  he  had  not  had  the  heart  to  take  it  away 
with  him  on  the  melancholy  handcart  which  had  trans- 
ported his  goods  to  Longton. 

The  decision  of  the  Chaucer  prize  was  to  be  decided 
an  hour  after  school  on  a  certain  day  and  the  official 
announcement  to  be  made  at  prayers  the  following 
day.  In  an  agony  of  sick  apprehension  Philip  slunk 
about  the  corridors  of  the  school.  He  was  in  a  state  of 
comatose  despair  and  was  staring  unseeingly  into  a 
case  of  stuffed  beavers  and  stoats,  when  a  hearty  and 
heavy  hand  descended^n  his  shoulder. 

"  Well,  PhiUp  !  "  exclaimed  the  robust  voice  of  Mr. 
Furness,  "  and  who  do  you  think  has  won  the  Chaucer 
prize  ?  " 

"  Albert  Chapman,  sir  !  "  suggested  Philip  weakly. 


APHRODITE  207 

"  Try  again  !  " 

"  Jack  Lord,  sir  !  " 

"  No,  my  lad  !  He  lives  nearer  Angel  Street  than 
that !  Oh,  of  course,  you  live  in  Longton  now  !  How's 
your  sister  ?  " 

''  You  .  .  .  you  don't  mean  me,  sir  ?  " 

"  But  I  do  !  Come  into  my  room,  I've  a  poet  I  think 
you'll  like.    Henley  !    You've  not  met  Henley  ? 

It  matters  not  how  strait  the  gate. 

How  charged  with  punishment  the  scroll ! 

Won't  your  mother  be  glad,  eh  ?  I'm  pleased, 
PhiHp,  very  !  You're  making  good  again !  Let  me 
see,  we  were  quoting  Henley.    Of  course,  you  remember  : 

In  the  fell  clutch  of  circumstance 
I  have  not  winced  nor  cried  aloud. 

No  ?    Here's  the  book  then  !  .  .  ." 

Philip  ran  to  Angel  Street  breathlessly  and  burst 
into  the  kitchen.  Reb  Monash  had  already  come 
down  and  was  sipping  his  glass  of  lemon-tea.  But 
Philip  had  no  eyes  for  Reb  Monash. 

"  Mother  !  "  he  shouted,  "  I've  won  !  I've  won  the 
Chaucer  !  A  five-pound  prize  !  Isn't  it  grand  !  I'll 
be  able  to  buy  you  a  blouse  for  yom  tov  !  And  hordes 
of  eggs  !    Isn't  it  grand  !  " 

She  looked  towards  Reb  Monash.  He  had  con- 
tracted his  forehead. 

"  Hush !  "  she  said  in  a  thin,  even  voice.  "  Thy  father 
has  a  head  this  afternoon.   Make  not  so  much  noise  !  " 

"  Don't  you  understand  ?  I've  won  an  awfully  big 
prize  and  I've  worked  so  hard  for  it !  "  he  said,  crest- 
fallen.   He  had  expected  she  would  flush  with  delight 


208  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

and  seize  tis  hands  and  lift  them  to  her  lips,  as  she  did 
when  she  was  tremendously  pleased  with  him.  In- 
stead, here  she  was  showing  no  sign  of  pleasure,  hardly 
of  interest. 

"  It  is  well !  "  she  said.  "  But  thou  must  be  quiet ! 
Thou  wilt  have  a  cup  of  tea,  wilt  thou  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  he  muttered,  suppressing  in  his  throat  a 
lump  of  acute  disappointment.  "  I've  got  to  go  to 
Dorah's  at  once  !    I  promised  to  do  something  for  her  !  " 

His  eyes  had  a  suspicion  of  dampness  when  he  arrived 
at  Longton.    He  ate  a  chilled  dinner  sullenly. 

Next  day  he  had  not  the  heart  to  go  and  see  his 
mother.  He  spent  the  hour  in  an  alcove  of  the  school 
library  ostensibly  reading  De  Quincey,  actually  playing 
a  game  at  that  time  gathering  momentum  at  Dooming- 
ton  School,  the  game  called  "  push  penny,"  where 
two  pair  of  nibs  stuck  in  a  table  served  as  goal  posts, 
and  two  rival  pocket  knives  impelling  two  rival  pennies 
attempted  to  introduce  a  further  coin  into  the  respec- 
tive pen-nib  goals.  But  he  turned  up  in  Angel  Street 
as  usual  the  following  day.  He  was  sulky.  "  A  nice 
mother  you  are  .  .  ."  he  began.  But  he  had  not  time 
to  say  more.  She  had  seated  him  beside  her  on  the  sofa 
and  was  stroking  his  head.  "  Feivele,  Feivele,  didst 
thou  not  understand  ?  When  he  is  here,  dare  I  show 
what  I  think,  how  glad  I  am  .  .  .  ?  "  A  fit  of  coughing 
interrupted  her.  The  boy  looked  up  anxiously.  "  Thou 
knowest,"  she  began  again,  "  thou  knowest  what  he 
will  think,  that  I  encourage  thee  in  they  goyishkeit. 
Ah,  would  that  thou  wert  a  holier  Jew,  my  son  !  It  does 
not  matter  how  far  thou  wilt  go  in  the  world,  once  a 
Jew,  remain  a  Jew  !  Thou  wilt  have  high  friends. 
They  will  say  to  thy  face  '  How  thou  art  wonderful, 
Mr.  Massel ! '  Is  not  that  true  ?  And  behind  thee 
they  will  murmur  '  Jew  !     Jew  ! '     Yah,  yah,  that  is 


APHRODITE  209 

a  long  way  ahead  !  Where  I  shall  be,  who  knows  ? 
And  now  again,  what  hast  thou  won  ?  What  ?  No  ! 
Not  five  pounds  !  For  just  sitting  down  and  writing 
for  three  hours  ?  No,  that  cannot  be  !  Mr.  Furness 
likes  thee,  no  ?  It  is  Mr.  Furness,  he  knows  thou  art 
cleverer  than  all  the  other  boys.  ..." 

"No  it  wasn't,  mother !  He  hadn't  anything  to  do 
with  it !  " 

"  Tell  me  not !  No  sane  man  will  give  away  five 
pounds  because  one  sits  oneself  down  at  a  desk  and 
writes  words !  Ah  well,  let  it  be,  if  thou  wilt  have  it  so  ! 
.  .  .  But  thou  must  not  work  so  hard,  thine  eyes  .  .  . 
Oh,  this  coughing !  I  went  to  the  market  to  buy  a 
hen  for  shahhos.  It  is  cheaper  there.  And  it  was  rain- 
ing one  of  your  English  rains  .  .  .  lakes,  it  rained  !  " 

"  You  know,  mother,  it's  rotten  of  you !  You 
shouldn't  do  it !  " 

"  It  will  pass,  it  will  pass  !  But  the  kettle's  boiling  ! 
Tea  !  And  look  what  I  have  bought  thee,  to-day  ! 
Cakes  with  ice,  eh  ?  I  know  how  thou  art  a  sweet 
tooth  !  Dost  thou  remember  swallowing  a  whole  box 
of  pills  because  thou  thought  they  were  sweets  !  And 
how  I  took  thee  in  this  shawl,  the  red  one,  to  the  chemist ! 
And  he  made  thee  sick  with  his  finger,  and  thou  bit  his 
hand,  thou  yungatsch !  See  !  It  boils  over  on  my 
clean  fender  !    Kum  shen,  hum  !  " 

The  summer  examinations  followed.  For  some 
weeks  preceding  them,  Philip  worked  hard  all  day  and 
long  into  the  night.  It  was  during  this  period  that 
Mrs.  Massel  took  to  her  bed.  Her  cough  had  become 
heavy  and  persistent.  Philip  would  come  in  after 
school  with  frightened  eyes. 

"  It  will  pass,  it  will  pass  !  "  she  repeated.  He  tried 
to  overwhelm  in  a  frenzied  absorption  in  his  work  the 
lurking  fear  which  gnawed  at  his  heart-strings.    Soon 


210  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

it  was  found  imperative  to  move  her  bed  from  the 
upstairs  bedroom  to  the  parlour  below.  The  pale 
thinning  face  would  intervene  between  him  and  the 
page.  He  would  draw  back  in  a  sudden  access  of  terror. 
"  It  will  be  all  right !  '*  he  assured .  himself ,  "  All  the 
really  hot  days  of  summer  are  to  come  yet !  "  One 
thing  at  least  he  could  do.  He  would  get  a  jB.rst-rate 
place  in  the  exams.  He  knew  how  that  would  delight 
her.  He  was  sure  it  would  help  her  no  end.  He  thrust 
himself  wholly  into  his  books. 

He  did  so  well  at  the  examination  that  a  bursary 
was  awarded  him  which  put  his  position  at  school 
beyond  all  peril  for  another  two  years. 

"  Mother  !  "  he  burst  in  one  day.  "  Such  good 
news  1  " 

She  lifted  her  head  tiredly.    "  Tell  me,  my  son  !  " 

"  I've  got  a  huge  scholarship  and  school's  absolutely 
right  now,  nothing  to  fear !  Tell  me,  mother,  aren't 
you  horribly  excited  !    Isn't  it  fine  !  " 

But  looking  down  on  her  face,  he  found  it  wet  with 
tears.    An  ice-sharp  dismay  leapt  to  his  heart. 

"  Mother,  aren't  you  glad  ?  You  ought  to  be  laugh- 
ing !  I  never  expected  anything  like  it !  Oh,  mother, 
why  on  earth  are  you  crying  ?  What's  it  all 
about  ?  " 

"  Thou  wilt  not  undervstand,  Philip !  But  it  is  nothing ! 
I'm  not  really  crying !  Nothing,  nothing !  See,  my 
face  is  dry  !    Kiss  me,  Feivele  !  " 

He  bent  down  to  her.  For  an  hour  he  talked  to  her  of 
the  new  confidence  his  success  had  brought  him  and 
what  he  was  going  to  do  when  he  left  school.  He  might 
even  go  bo  the  University !  No,  he  would  not  be  a  doctor ! 
His  ambitions  hadn't  taken  shape  yet,  but  he  might  be. 
.  .  .  Oh,  he  didn't  know  what  he  mightn't  be  if  he  only 
tried !   And  he'd  have  such  a  house  for  her  to  live  in. . . !  " 


APHRODITE  211 

He  fell  to  describing  the  house  of  his  dreams  .  .  . 
until  at  length  Channah  came  in.  She  was  ending  her 
button-hole  labours  earlier,  nowadays,  in  order  to  have 
moEe  time  to  attend  to  her  mother. 

The  summer  holidays  had  already  begun  when  Mr. 
Furness  wrote  to  Philip  informing  him  that  he  had  made 
arrangements  for  the  boy  to  spend  a  fortnight  in  the 
country.  It  was  characteristic  of  Mr.  Furness.  He 
realized  that  unless  he  himself  engineered  it  there  was 
no  chance  of  Philip  obtaining  the  holiday  the  boy 
seemed  badly  to  need.  It  was  better,  he  decided,  not 
to  broach  the  matter  at  all,  but  by  definitely  presenting 
Philip  with  the  fait  accompli,  and  by  placing  himself 
behind  the  vantage  of  the  impersonal  post,  to  simplify 
Philip's  position  as  far  as  possible.  The  idea  had 
occurred  to  him  of  inviting  Philip  to  the  annual  Dooming- 
ton  camp  among  the  Westmoreland  hills,  particularly 
as  the  camp  regularly  contained  a  fair  proportion  of  the 
Jewish  boys  at  the  school.  But  the  thought  of  Reb 
Monash  seemed  rigidly  to  disqualify  the  idea.  It  was 
obvious  that  with  the  most  courteous  intentions  in  the 
world  the  ceremonial  minutiae  of  Angel  Street  could 
hardly  be  repeated  to  their  lasb  austerity  in  the  divine 
welter  of  camp.  He  cast  about  in  his  mind,  therefore, 
for  a  means  of  satisfying  at  once  the  scruples  of  Reb 
Monash  and  his  own  determination  that  Philip  should 
breathe  smokeless  air.  The  Jewish  "  guest  house " 
kept  by  Mrs.  Kraft  under  the  Wenton  Hills  seemed  as 
amiable  a  solution  as  he  could  find. 

It  was  run  on  "  strictly  hosher "  lines  for  boys 
between  the  ages  of  thirteen  and  sixteen,  and  ladies  over 
the  decorous  age  of  thirty.  The  determination  to  avoid 
complications  du  coeur  seemed,  he  considered,  perhaps 
a  little  ostentatious.  The  important  point,  however, 
was  that  Wenton  House  was  at  once  "  kosher  "  and  in 


212  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

the  country,  and  he  was  satisfied  that  Mrs.  Kraft  was 
a  capable  and  excellent  lady. 

For  one  moment  only  Mr.  Furness's  letter  brought 
to  Philip  a  wild  joy,  then  the  joy  flickered  and  was 
quenched. 

"  Absolutely  impossible  !  "  he  determined.  "  How 
can  I  go  and  leave  her  lying  ill  in  the  parlour,  coughing  ! 
I'm  not  going,  that's  final !  " 

But  the  matter  was  by  no  means  so  easily  decided. 
"  Not  going  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Massel.  "  Not  going  !  " 
echoed  Channah. 

"  Be  thou  not  a  fool,  my  son  !  "  the  mother  urged. 
"  How  I  have  yearned  it  should  come  to  pass  for  thee  ! 
What,  a  Yiddisher  house  in  the  country !  Of  course 
thou  wilt  go  !  Thou  wilt  come  back  a  lahe,  a  lion,  with 
a  big  chest,  a  sight  for  God  and  Man !  Perhaps  there 
will  be  a  real  river  there  ?  No  ?  Not  like  the  Mitchen  ! 
A  river  they  call  it,  such  a  year  upon  them  !  Yes,  and 
the  men  in  the  fields  will  be  cutting  the  grass,  or  is  it 
too  soon  ?  The  year  is  slower  in  this  England  of  thine 
than  in  Terkass,  but  what  knows  one  of  the  year,  how 
it  comes  or  goes,  in  thy  lovely  Dum — ing — tonn  !  " 

"  Don't  be  silly,  mother !  How  on  earth  can  I  go 
when  you're  like  this !  1  can't !  I  can't  think 
of  it !  " 

"  A  question  !  Thou  must  go,  I  say  !  Annotate  for 
me  no  passages  !  Mirtsaschem,  I'll  be  well  again  when 
thou  retumest.  I  will  make  thee,  all  for  thyself,  a 
huggel  .  .  .  o^,  oi,  this  coughing  .  .  .  mishkosheh,  it 
will  pass  ...  a  large  huggel,  with  large  raisins,  larger 
raisins  are  not !  " 

"  Of  course  you  must  go !  "  broke  in  Channah,  adding 
her  pressure,  "  Look  how  hard  you've  been  working 
with  all  your  Chancers  and  things  !  We'll  be  having  you 
to  look  after  as  well,  if  you're  not  careful !    And  you 


APHRODITE  213 

know  yourself  how  it'll  cheer  mother  up  to  think  you're 
in  the  open  air  with  no  worries  and  nothing  to  do  but 
get  fat !  I'll  tell  you  what,  I'll  give  you  an  extra  half- 
crown — if  you  promise  not  to  spend  it  on  your  smelly 
old  books — and  you  must  go  to  a  farm  every  mom- 
ing "  • 

But  as  she  went  on  talking,  a  shadow,  the  sensation 
of  a  picture  rather  than  a  picture  itself,  established 
itself  in  Philip's  mind.  A  figure  shrouded,  very  calm, 
very  cold  !  Candles  fluttering  somewhere  !  Hunched 
shadows  .  .  .  calm  .  .  .  cold.  .  .  .  ! 

"  I  can't  go  !    I  can't  go  !  "  he  shouted  suddenly. 

"  Feivele  !  "  his  mother  begged.  "  What  is  with  you  ? 
Speak  to  him,  Ghannah,  speak  to  him  !  " 

"  You're  a  beast,  Philip  !  Look  how  you're  up- 
setting her !  You  must  go !  Emmes  adonoi,  the 
doctor  said  she's  getting  on  nicely.  It's  only  rest  she 
wants  and  good  food,  he  said,  and  no  worry.  No  worry, 
mind  you !  " 

He  looked  away  from  Ghannah  and  saw  the  appeal  in 
his  mother's  eyes. 

"  All  right,  I'll  go  !  "  he  said  heavily. 

"  Good  old  lad  !    The  first  thing  .  .  ." 

"  Look  here,  Ghannah  !  "  he  interrupted.  An  idea 
had  suddenly  occurred  to  him.  "  I'll  go  on  one  con- 
dition. You  must  write  a  note  to  me  every  day  I'm 
away,  it  doesn't  matter  how  small,  a  post-card  if  you 
like  !  And  every  day  mother  must  write  her  name  on 
it,  without  fail !    Promise  that !  " 

Ghannah  looked  at  him  strangely. 

"  Of  course  I'll  promise  !  And  I'll  do  it !  Won't  we, 
mother  ?  " 

"  The  foolish  boy  with  his  poetry-ideas  !  Of  course 
we  will !  Nu,  shen,  nu,  thou  art  happy  now  ?  He 
will  say  to  me  a  poetry,  Ghannah,  and  thou  must  go 


214  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

this  moment  to  boil  thyself  an  egg !     Go  thou,  go, 
tochterel  I " 

"  That's  all  right ! "  murmured  Philip.  Before 
him  waved  green  banners  of  grass  towards  the  foothills, 
and  white  clouds  sailed  aloof  over  broken  peaks.  .  .  . 
"  That's  all  right,  mother !  And  if  you  forget  that 
kuggel  ..." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FOR  the  first  day  at  Wenton  Philip  was  almost 
drunk  with  the  abrupt  change  from  Dooming- 
ton  to  the  fresh  air  and  the  hills.  The  atmosphere  in 
Wenton  House,  to  be  sure,  was  a  little  chiUy.  The 
relentless  cleanliness  of  each  conceivable  detail  was 
disturbing.  The  flaky  boiled  potatoes  served  up  for 
midday  dinner,  Philip's  first  meal  in  the  House, 
compared  a  little  disagreeably  with  the  potatoes  baked 
in  abundant  fat  as  prepared  by  Mrs.  Massel  and  only 
less  ably  by  Dorah.  There  occurred  also  a  slight 
contretemps  with  the  implements  for  pudding.  It 
seemed  that  most  of  the  boys  who  sat  at  Philip's 
table  had  paid  earlier  visits  to  Wenton  House  :  for 
Mrs.  Kraft,  as  she  stood  at  the  door  to  receive  her 
junior  guests,  was  able,  though  the  scheduled  fortnight 
was  only  just  beginning,  to  inquire  from  one  youth, 
"  Well,  Abey,  and  did  you  get  that  job  in  the  shipping 
ofiice  ?  "  and  from  another,  ''  Tell  me,  Hyman,  is  the 
other  sister  married  yet  ?  "  and  to  warn  a  third,  "  I 
hope  you  will  not  throw  stones,  Jackie,  at  the  Christian 
boys  in  the  village  !  I  get  blamed  for  it,  and  it  won't 
do,  it  won't  do  !  "  To  Philip  she  said,  a  smile  emerging 
from  the  grimace  of  matronal  hospitahty,  "  What  did 
you  say  your  name  was  ?  Philip  Massel  ?  And  how 
old  ?  Oh,  of  course,  Mr.  Furness  told  me,  getting  on 
for  sixteen  !  Well,  we're  glad  to  see  you,  Philip  !  See 
you  have  a  good  time  !  " 

215 


216  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Far  chillier  than  Mrs.  Kraft  were  the  boiled  potatoes, 
and  chillier  the  pictures  on  the  walls.  Wenton  House 
was  not  wholly  self-supporting  ;  only  the  charity  of 
several  benevolent  individuals  in  Doomington  rendered 
a  country  fortnight  possible  to  the  boys  on  the  easy 
terms  of  their  acceptance.  Hence  perhaps  the  legends 
below  the  pictures,  "  How  ready  is  the  arm  of  Charity  !  " 
"  Charity,  the  Handmaiden  of  God  !  " 

Yet,  despite  the  slight  constriction  in  the  atmosphere 
engendered  by  these  details,  the  sight  of  Winckley 
Pike  beyond  the  wide  window  of  the  dining-room, 
and  the  quick  cry  of  swallows  and  the  smell  of  clover 
atoned  for  the  hygienic  potatoes,  and  made  of  the 
pictured  legends  mere  ingenuous  statements  of  fact. 
The  country  was  not  so  overwhelming  a  revolution  in 
the  mind  of  Philip  as  might  have  been  expected.  Poetry 
had  long  ago  made  real  enough  the  unseen  hills  and 
the  unsmelled  blossoms.  Bluebell  Bank  had  given 
concreteness  as  well  as  subjective  reality  to  his  dreams, 
and  such  excursions  into  the  country  for  a  whole 
day  as  he  had  experienced  several  times,  with  Dorah 
once,  with  Harry  and  Alec  once,  and  twice  with  a 
master  at  school,  had  continued  the  process  of  revela- 
tion. They  had  once  climbed  Bracken  Hill  to  see  far 
off  the  triangular  mass  of  Winckley  Pike,  and  beyond, 
the  more  desolate  moors  and  the  jagged  hills. 

It  was  at  tea-time  that  he  first  thoroughly  became 
aware  of  the  dark  eyes  of  a  lady,  a  young  lady,  a  lady 
who  was  chiefly  dark  eyes.  He  had  had  a  dim  feehng 
during  dinner  that  some  inexplicable  thing  was  causing 
a  disturbance  in  his  blood.  He  had  given  it  no  name. 
It  may  have  been  nervousness  merely  due  to  the  new 
surroundings.  But  at  tea-time  he  ascertained  quite 
clearly  that  among  the  ladies  of  appallingly  mature 
age  seated  round  the  table  between  his  own  table  and 


APHRODITE  217 

the  windows,  a  young  lady  not  fearfully  mucli  older 
than  himself,  was  lifting  lettuce  to  her  virginal  lips. 
She  was  sixteen,  perhaps  seventeen,  certainly  not 
eighteen  !  They  were  nice  lips  for  eating  lettuce  with, 
but  they  were  nothing  to  compare  with  her  eyes.  Dark 
eyes,  a  bit  languishing  and  long,  with  long  lashes.  He 
wondered  what  she  was  doing  there  amid  her  staider 
companions.  He  wondered  what  the  colour  of  her 
dark  eyes  really  was.  Would  you  call  it  brown,  or  a 
sort  of  deep  shade  of  grey  ?  He  became  aware  of  her 
awareness  of  him.  She  was  conscious  of  his  scrutiny 
and  the  dark  eyes  stared  scorn.  A  chit  of  a  boy  like 
him  !  He  reahzed  he  had  held  his  cup  of  tea  for  long 
seconds  arrested  on  its  journey  to  his  lips.  He  blushed 
and  drained  the  chilled  cup  to  its  last  drop.  The  lady 
was  chattering  vivaciously,  her  eyes  quick  and  lovely, 
her  lettuce-receiving  lips  making  rich,  full  curves  as 
she  spoke. 

"  Make  a  good  tea,  you  boys !  "  came  the  vigilant 
injunction  of  Mrs.  Kraft. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Kraft !  "  was  the  fervent  and  almost 
unanimous  reply. 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Kraft !  "  hurried  Philip,  startled,  belated. 
He  observed  quite  distinctly  the  lips  of  the  dark-eyed 
lady  shape  in  mockery  "  Yes,  Mrs.  Kraft !  "  His 
veins  burned  resentment  against  the  insolent  mystery. 
The  sun  shouldered  from  behind  a  cloud  and  thrust 
his  fingers  into  her  thick  hair.  It  sparkled  and  was 
alive  with  lights  like  a  tray  of  gems  in  a  jeweller's 
window.  The  flash  and  wealth  of  the  girl's  hair  turned 
him  swiftly  veering  towards  Doomington,  the  thinning 
hair  of  his  mother. 

"  Poor  old  mother  !  "  he  mused,  deliberately  switch- 
ing his  mind  away  from  the  lady  of  long  lashes.  I 
wonder  if  the  cough's  eased  down  a  bit  ?     I  wonder 


218  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

how  many  days  it'll  be  before  she's  up  and  about 
again.  .  .  .  What  a  funny  little  nose  she's  got,  a 
weird  little  cleft  at  the  tip  !  What  can  she  be  doing  in 
that  lot  ?  .  .  .  0  blow  the  girl,  what's  she  got  to  do 
with  it  anyhow  ?  Why  on  earth  shouldn't  mother  get 
away  here,  as  soon  as  she's  properly  all  right  ?  Every- 
thing's kosher  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  He'll  have  to 
find  the  money  somewhere,  that's  all !  They  could 
sell  all  those  hechers  and  the  plush  table-cloth.  And  we 
never  use  the  samovar  nowadays  !  Oh  what  a  rotten 
cough  it  was,  like  something  tearing  !    Poor  old  ..." 

''  You  won't  leave  that  piece  of  bread  and  butter  on 
the  plate  unfinished,  Philip  Massel,  please  !  "  broke  in 
the  voice  of  Mrs.  Kraft. 

"  I'm  so  sorry  1  "  he  said,  a  quiver  in  his  voice,  the 
cough  still  jangUng  and  echoing  in  his  brain,  "  I  didn't 
notice  it !  " 

He  again  caught  the  eyes  of  the  dark  lady.  It 
seemed  that  mysteriously  she  had  caught  the  infec- 
tion of  his  sadness.  Her  eyes  were  rounder  than  they 
had  been,  though  not  less  dark.  Her  speech  was  more 
subdued. 

Or  perhaps  it  was  an  illusion.  Perhaps  ?  Of  course 
it  was  an  illusion !  A  laughter  fell  from  her  throat 
like  a  shower  of  pebbles.  Surely  she  couldn't  have 
meant  that  almost  imperceptible  wink  for  him  ?  An 
elder  person  was  muttering  uncomfortably,  "  Not  so 
much  jam,  Mamie  !  " 

Mamie ! 

An  ever  so  much  nicer  name,  when  you  came  to 
think  of  it,  than  "  Edie."  '' Edie "  began  with  a 
screech  and  its  one  consonant  was  a  miserable  dental. 
Strange  how  totally  Edie  and  her  nymphs  had  slipped 
from  his  thoughts  of  late  months  !  He  remembered 
the  thoroughly  nasty  row  at  school  after  the  Walton 


APHRODITE  219 

Street  period  had  brought  him  so  abysmally  low  down 
in  form.  They  had  been  giddy  months.  ...  He  had 
learned  a  lot.  .  .  .  Then  the  Chaucer  came,  then  the 
school  exams.  Then  she  fell  ill  and  got  worse  as  the 
weeks  went  on.  .  .  .  There  had  been  no  room  for 
Edie.  She  was  a  sly,  deceiving  creature,  not  really 
to  be  trusted,  though  beautiful  in  a  sort  of  way  of 
course.  Now  Mamie  .  .  .  extraordinary  name, 
Mamie.  .  .  . 

The  boys  had  begun  to  file  out  of  the  room,  and 
Philip  turned  his  eyes  once  more  towards  Mamie, 
absurdly  daring  to  hope  she  was  looking  in  his  direc- 
tion, or,  if  not  actually  looking  towards  him,  at  least 
showing  the  black  jewels  of  her  eyes.  But  her  head 
was  turned  away ;  he  could  make  out  the  leaf  of 
lettuce  that  was  delicately  approaching  the  hidden 
mouth. 

Duly  the  next  day  a  letter  came  from  Channah. 
Mother  was  getting  on  as  well  as  might  be  expected, 
and  be  sure  and  get  that  glass  of  milk  every  day,  and 
if  ever  you  walk  into  streams,  go  back  at  once  and 
change  into  your  other  boots.  Below  the  girl's  writing 
the  wavering  Yiddish  letters  of  his  mother's  signature 
scrawled  sacredly.  With  a  sentimentalism  he  did  not 
repress,  despite  a  consciousness  of  Alec's  probable 
attitude  towards  such  behaviour,  he  placed  the  letter 
under  his  shirt  until  its  successor  of  next  day  should 
displace  it.  He  was  wallcing  alone,  along  a  quiet  lane 
behind  the  ambling  shanks  of  cows.  He  had  made 
efforts  to  develop  friendly  relations  with  some  of  the 
other  boys  at  Wenton  House.  But  most  of  them 
seemed  to  have  got  acquainted  with  each  other  in 
Doomington  or  on  previous  hoUdays  and  were  already 
splitting  up  into  exclusive  groups  of  twos  and  threes. 
He  could  not  help  but  feel  that  they  looked  upon 


220  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

him  with  some  distrust.  Many  of  them  had  already- 
left  their  schools  and  were  installed  in  warehouses  and 
factories.  PhiUp  was  obviously  one  of  those  stuck-up 
people  who  pronounced  their  "  u's  "  almost  as  if  they 
were  "  a's,"  which  was  absurd,  and  some  of  them  their 
"  a's  "  as  if  they  were  ''  ar's,"  which  was  intolerable. 
There  was  something  too,  he  observed,  of  subtle  contempt 
in  their  attitude.  They  had  all  paid  a  certain  sum  of 
shillings  for  their  respective  fortnights,  but  the  rumour 
had  gone  abroad  that  an  unknown  capitalist  was 
financing  Philip's  holiday.  No,  they  decided,  he  was 
not  their  class  ;  a  Httle  above,  a  Httle  below,  but  not 
of  them  !  So  that,  not  entirely  to  his  displeasure,  he 
was  left  rather  pointedly  alone.  Upon  the  second 
afternoon,  then,  he  was  sauntering  slowly  along  at  a 
little  distance  behind  a  herd  of  cows,  when  he  saw  far 
up  the  lane  a  female  figure  clothed  in  light  blue  turn 
round  a  bend  with  some  speed,  advance  a  little,  and 
then  apparently  catching  sight  of  the  approaching 
cows,  stop  suddenly  and  flatten  against  a  laneside  tree. 
Then  pursuing  her  round  the  bend  lurched  a  red  cow, 
followed  by  another  and  a  third.  The  blue-clad  figure 
sped  onward  again  until  the  foremost  of  the  advancing 
cows  was  not  far  from  her,  then  she  sank  once  more 
into  the  dry  ditch.  Philip  had  recognised  the  black 
hair.  He  had  almost  made  out  the  brightness  of  the 
eyes.    It  was  Mamie,  the  enchantress  of  the  tea-table  ! 

"  Frightened  of  cows  !  "  he  thought  a  little  con- 
temptuously. "  All  right,  I'll  lend  the  poor  girl  a 
hand  !  "  He  came  quickly  forward  and  placed  himself 
between  the  girl  and  the  roadway. 

"  Excuse  me,  won't  you  !  "  he  said,  "  I  personally 
am  not  afraid  of  cows.  .  .  ." 

The  bent  head  was  lifted  with  quick  anger,  the  black 
hair  tossing. 


APHRODITE  221 

"  Who  said  1  was  ?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  1  beg  your  pardon !  "  said  Philip  crestfallen. 

"  I  didn't  understand  why "  and  he  proceeded  to 

move  away,  a  flush  of  flame  lining  his  ears. 

"  Don't  go  away !  "  the  girl  shrieked.  *'  I  am 
frightened  !    Horribly  !  " 

He  came  back.  "  Right-ho  !  "  he  said,  and  folded 
his  arms.  The  cows  were  filing  past  in  the  two  directions. 
Mamie  looked  round  from  the  side  of  Philip's  legs. 
"  They're  nearly  all  gone  !  "  he  assured  her. 

"  I  hate  cows  !  "  she  vowed. 

He  ventured  a  remark  not  strictly  a  propos.  "  And 
I  hate  moths  !    Of  course,  not  to  mention  beetles  !  " 

"  I  don't  like  beetles — or  moths  !  "  she  added  specu- 
latively. "  But  principally  mice  and  cows.  But  then 
what  would  you  expect  from  a  sensintive  girl  like  me  ?  " 

His  mind  went  floundering  after  the  meaning  of 
"  sensintive."  Oh,  of  course,  she  meant  what  people 
usually  called  "  sensitive."  What  a  quaint  old-world 
sort  of  word  it  was  on  Mamie's  lips  !  "  Exactly ! 
Exactly  !  "  he  agreed  politely. 

"  If  I  may  say  so,  it  isn't  exactly  delineate  to  know 
which  are  bulls  and  which  are  cows.  Only  vulgar  girls 
know  that  sort  of  thing  !  "  What  a  fascinating  little  trick 
she  had  of  putting  "  n's "  into  unexpected  places. 
Delineate!  It  gave  the  very  word  a  dehcacy  of  its 
own. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  he  said  with  conviction. 

"  I'd  best  be  getting  up  !  "  she  remarked  after  a  slight 
silence.  "  It  was  very  sweet  of  you  to  give  me  your 
protection.  Thank  you !  "  her  lips  shaped  lusciously. 
"  Thank  you  !  So  sweet  of  you  !  Quite  chivalrous  !  " 
she  completed,  with  a  delightfully  displaced  accent. 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all !  "  murmured  Philip.  Really 
girls  did  make  an  awful  fool  of  him !     It  was  about 


222  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

time  he  said  something  a  little  more  elaborate  than 
"  Exactly  !  "  or  "  Not  at  aU  !  "  He  had  said  more 
before  a  crowd  of  working  men  in  ten  seconds  than 
he  seemed  capable  of  in  ten  hours  in  the  presence  of 
this  quite  extraordinary  young  lady. 

"  You  might,"  came  her  voice,  a  little  waspishly, 
"  help  a  lady  to  her  feet  when  she  gives  you  an  invinta- 
tion !  That  you  might !  "  She  was  rising  from  the 
ditch.  He  bent  over  towards  her,  stung  and  foolish, 
and  lifted  her  to  her  feet.  The  pout  left  her  lips  at 
once.  "  Oh,  thank  you  so  much  !  "  she  trilled.  "  Quite 
grown-up  you  are,  somehow  !  How  long  are  you  stay- 
ing in  this  dirty  hole  !  " 

"  As  long  as  you  are  !  "  he  said  recklessly,  in  a  spurt 
of  shy  gallantry. 

"  Go  hon,  now ! "  she  mocked,  and  flicked  the  tip  of 
his  nose  with  outstretched  fingers.  "  That  you  aren't ! 
I'll  have  to  run  away  from  you  if  you  talk  like  that !  " 
She  broke  into  song — "  Saucy  and  so  young !  "  she 
quavered.  Her  voice  sent  little  waves  of  pleasure 
coursing  up  and  down  his  spine.  "  I'm  older  than  you 
are,  I'll  bet !  "  he  ventured  maturely. 

"  How  old,  Percival  ?  "  she  asked,  signifying  her 
pleasure  with  a  smile  of  arch  gratitude. 

"  About  seventeen  !  "  he  lied. 

"  Well,  I'm  only  just  a  bit  older,  nearly  eighteen !  " 
she  said  glibly.  Her  hand  patted  and  smoothed  her 
hair.  "  Nearly  eighteen !  "  she  repeated,  as  if  the 
sound  of  the  words  gave  her  real  pleasure. 

'*  So  we're  sort  of  practically  the  same  age !  "  sug- 
gested Philip. 

"  Are  we  now  ?  Well,  you  are  taller  than  me  and 
only  a  month  or  so  younger,  so  we'll  call  it  quits,  as 
we  say  on  the  stage  !  " 

"  On  the  stage  ?  "  PhiUp  asked  breathlessly. 


APHRODITE  228 

"  On  the  concert-platform,  I  do  mean !  Not  low- 
down  music-halls  and  musical  comedies !  I'm  a 
singer !  " 

"  By  Jove  !  "  Philip  whispered,  "  I  didn't  know  you 
were  one  of  those  !  " 

"  One  of  those  what  ?  "  she  asked  sharply. 

"  Singers  !  "  he  replied  innocently.    "  Why,  what  ?  '* 

*'  Oh,  it's  all  right,  what's-your-name  !  "  she  said. 
"  Oh,  by  the  way,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  PhiUp,  my  name  is  !    PhiUp  Massel !  " 

"  Quite  nice  !  "  she  approved.    "  Mine's  Ursula  !  " 

"  But  I  heard  a  lady  say  *  Mamie  ! '  " 

She  frowned.  "  Oh,  that's  only  my  Jewish  name — 
Mamie  Jacobovitch.  Of  course  you'll  have  heard  my 
professional  name,  '  Ursula  Daventry.'  But  I  don't 
mind  being  called  Mamie  on  holidays  !  But  how  long," 
she  asked,  changing  the  subject,  "  did  you  say  you 
were  staying  ?  A  fortnight,  I  suppose  ?  I'm  staying 
three  weeks  !  " 

"  I  thought  girls  weren't  supposed  to  stay  at  Mrs. 
Kraft's,  are  they  ?  " 

*'  Oh,  it's  my  precious  mother's  doing  !  She's  gone 
off  to  Chester  to  help  Auntie  Bessie  have  a  baby, 
although  what  good  she'll  do  .  .  .  but  I  oughtn't 
to  talk  to  you  like  this,  you're  only  a  kid  after 
aU !  " 

"  You  just  said,  you  know,  we're  really  the  same  age 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  didn't  you  1  " 

"  Of  course  I  did !  Of  course  we  are !  Where  was 
I !  Oh,  yes !  Well,  and  mother's  a  cousin  of  Mrs. 
Hannetstein  and  Mrs.  Hannetstein's  a  big  friend  of 
Mrs.  Kraft  and  there  you  are.  Fm  just  shunted  out 
of  ^the  way  !  Not  wanted  in  Chester  !  Not  trusted  on 
my  own  in  Doomington  1  It's  filthy  !  And  to  be  locked 
up  with  a  lot  of  old  women !  " 


224  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  I  hope  it  won't  be  so  rotten  for  you  after  all !  If 
the  weather  keeps  fine " 

''  Don't  be  so  hinty,  Philip  !  But  all  right,  in  any 
case  there  isn't  any  real  reason  why  we  shouldn't  go 
out  together  sometimes,  is  there  ? — so  long  as  we  keep 
it  dark.  I  suppose  Mrs.  Kraft  would  pack  me  off 
straight  away,  the  woman,  if  she  sniffed  that  I  was 
carrying  on !  " 

*'  But  talking  isn't  carrying  on  ?  " 

"  You  have  no  idea  what  filthy  minds  they've  got, 
all  of  them  !  But  look  here,  Mr.  Philip,  we're  out  on 
the  main  road  now  and  those  are  the  back  windows  of 
Wenton  House.  They  might  be  spying  out  even  now, 
some  of  them  !  You  can't  tell  with  these  females  ! 
I'll  tell  you  what,  just  slip  back  into  the  lane  and 
follow  on  in  five  minutes,  don't  you  think  ?  Good-bye, 
Percival,  see  you  to-morrow  1  Such  thanks  for  rescuing 
me  from  the  bulls  !    Good-bye  !  " 

Philip  slipped  back  into  the  lane,  his  head  whirling. 
Bewildering,  audacious,  inexplicable  girl !  So  beauti- 
fully friendly  and  candid,  and  so  intelHgent,  and  so 
much  a  woman  of  the  world — a  concert-singer !  And 
she  took  one  as  one's  equal,  not  as  a  nice  school-boy 
who  was  only  just  putting  his  nose  into  the  world. 
Philip  was  flattered  and  excited.  He  sat  down  against 
the  hedge,  and  his  hand  wandered  for  his  handkerchief 
towards  the  pocket  sewn  on  his  shirt.  As  he  extracted 
the  handkerchief,  something  crackled.  The  letter, 
Channah's  letter,  with  his  mother's  signature !  He 
had  forgotten  all  about  her  !  Oh,  what  a  hog  he  was  ! 
Probably  coughing  her  chest  out  on  the  sofa  that  very 
moment !  A  tiny  feeling  of  revolt  against  the  com- 
pelling Mamie  entered  his  heart.  Almost  forgotten 
his  mother  !  That  would  never  do  !  But  what  eyes  she 
had,  smiling  and  dark  and  secret,  even  if  she  was  sq 


APHRODITE  225 

charmingly  frank  on  the  outside !  There  was  tragedy 
in  those  eyes  !  Yes,  he  was  sure  there  must  be  tragedy 
in  her  life  somewhere.  Poor  girl !  he  murmured 
protectively.  By  the  time  he  reached  Wenton  House 
he  had  constructed  for  her  a  sombre  Greek  background 
against  which  her  proud  bright  spirit  shone  unyield- 
ing. Poor  girl !  he  repeated.  But  what  eyes !  he 
mused  finally,  what  eyes  ! 

Next  morning  no  letter  arrived.  He  was  furious, 
chiefly  with  Channah.  "  What  does  she  mean  by 
promising  me  and  then  letting  me  down  like  this ! 
Another  of  her  rotten  old  actor-heroes  ;  absolutely 
sloppy  about  them,  she  is  !  I  wonder  how  mother  can 
be  !  They  ought  to  know  how  anxious  they'd  make 
me  not  writing  after  they'd  promised !  Absolutely 
filthy,  taking  the  bloom  off  a  chap's  holiday,  the  only 
hohday  I've  ever  had  !  "  He  spilt  his  coffee  with  bad 
temper.  Mrs.  Kraft  stared  sourly  from  her  post  at 
the  "  ladies'  "  table.  Philip  rushed  out  after  breakfast 
to  compose  a  letter  of  fierce  invective.  It  then  occurred 
to  him  that  if  his  mother  was  worse,  his  letter  wouldn't 
help.  He  tried  to  convince  himself  that  she  was  better 
and  that  Channah  had  therefore  not  thought  the  letter 
worth  bothering  about.  He  tore  up  the  letter,  but  his 
bad  temper  increased.  The  morning  passed  very 
dully  and  he  was  too  sullen  to  be  interested  in  the 
munificent  substitution  of  fried  for  boiled  potatoes  at 
dinner.  But  as  the  afternoon  shadows  deepened,  his 
feet  took  him  disconsolately  towards  the  lane  where 
the  cow-and-Mamie  episode  had  taken  place.  In  that 
direction  lay,  he  felt,  the  only  oasis  in  the  ennui  of 
Wenton.  An  absurdity  suddenly  struck  him.  Here 
was  the  romantic,  the  poet,  who  had  once  rhapsodized 
over  a  blade  of  grass  and  shouted  for  glory  at  a  bird's 
pong,  here  was  he,  with  strange  sweet  singers  on  every 


226  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

branch  of  unnamed  trees,  with  wild  flowers  dappling 
the  meadows,  scented  weeds  filling  the  streamside  air, 
here  was  he  dull  and  sulky  and  stupid !  What  was 
coming  over  him  ?  Had  the  year  ended  in  too  feverish 
a  bout  of  work  ?  But  of  course  it  was  Channah  and 
that  letter !  Hang  the  girl,  why  hadn't  she  written  ? 
Yet  that  wasn't  all,  there  was  something  else  making 
him  unquiet,  setting  up  cross  currents  in  these  free 
Wenton  days  which  until  recently  had  seemed  a  dream 
not  for  a  dreary  time  capable  of  realization.  What  else 
beside  Channah  ?  Oh,  yes,  here  was  the  lane  where  he 
had  seen  the  huddling  mass  of  blue.  Mamie !  Un- 
doubtedly, it  was  that  weird  girl  with  the  darlc  eyes 
putting  things  out  of  tune  !  He  didn't  like  her  !  There 
was  too  much  assurance  about  her.  ...  By  Heaven, 
here  she  was,  sitting  demure  and  watchful  on  the 
further  side  of  a  sycamore  ! 

"  Good  afternoon,  Philip  !  " 

*'  Good  afternoon.  Miss — er.  Miss  Daventry  !  " 

"  Well,  if  you  won't  call  me  Mamie,  I  can't  say  I 
really  mind,  you  know  !  But  I  don't  think  it's  at  all 
friendly  of  you  !    That  I  don't !    Particularly  after " 

"  I'm  fearfully  sorry,  Mamie  !  I  didn't  think  you'd 
really  like  to,  after  only  meeting  yesterday  !  " 

"  After  all,  what  does  that  matter  with  girls  and 
boys  like  me  and  you !  Won't  you  just  sit  down  here, 
or  are  you  going  on  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Oh,  if  you'll  let  me " 

"  Yes,  do  !  Now  what  is  it  is  bringing  that  nasty 
frown  on  PhiHp's  forehead !  Out  with  it,  he  mustn't 
look  so  worried  or  Mamie  will  think  all  sorts  of  things  !  " 

"  It's  about,  well,  it's  about  a  letter  !  " 

"  Oh,  oh  !  "  said  the  girl  teasingly.  "  Oh,  oh  !  Tell 
us  all  about  her !  And  you  do  look  so  young  to  be 
carrying  on !    I  said  to  myself  when  I  first  saw  you, 


APHRODITE  227 

I  said,  '  Now  there's  a  young  man  an  innocent  girl 
like  me's  got  to  be  careful  of  !  I  can  see  it  in  his  eyes, 
I  can '  !  "  She  hummed  the  words  of  a  song.  She 
momentarily  forgot  her  friend  as  she  pursued  a  phrase 
along  a  trilling  tremolo.  And  then,  "  Oh,  yes,  where 
are  we  !  A  letter  from  his  little  sweetheart !  Oh,  o^, 
Philip !  " 

"  It  isn't !  "  Philip  declared.  He  explained  haltingly 
the  nature  of  the  letter. 

"  Oh,  don't  worry  about  that  sort  of  thing  on  holiday!" 
enjoined  Mamie  airily.  "  /  never  would,  not  if  my 
mother  were  dying  of  the  croup  !  And  if  your  sister 
doesn't  keep  her  promises,  she's  a  cat  and  it's  her 
own  look-out !  Oh  no,  no,  no,  don't  let  a  little  thing 
like  that  worry  you  !  " 

"  Really,  don't  talk  of  her  like  that !  She's  a  sport ! 
She's  not  a  cat !  " 

"  Did  I  say  your  sister  was  a  cat  ?  Oh,  I  didn't 
mean  that,  you  didn't  get  me  proper.  You  see  it's 
like  this.  .  .  .  Oh,  hell !  It's  not  worth  bothering 
about !  What  was  I  going  to  say  ?  Let  me  see — 
yes  !  Don't  be  afraid  of  me,  Philip,  why  don't  you 
move  up  a  bit,  there's  room  enough  ?  That's  right ! 
Now  let's  talk  about  something  interesting,  not  letters 
and  stuff !  " 

A  flame  of  resentment  was  smouldering  in  Philip. 
He  was  searching  round  for  something  to  say  which 
would  re-establish  his  self-respect.  Peculiar  girl ! 
There  was  no  making  her  out !  What  was  she  doing  ? 
She  was  holding  his  hand  1  What  soft  fingers  she  had  ! 
She  stroked  his  wrist,  then  his  forearm.  Quaint  waves 
of  pleasure  went  tingling  along  his  backbone.  She 
was  leaning  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  Her  lovely  hair 
was  blowing  against  his  cheek,  her  bosom  was  pressing 
warmly  against  him. 


228  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  PhiUp  !  "  she  said.  He  made  no  reply.  ''  PhiHp  !  " 
she  repeated.  What  was  there  to  say  ?  He  Hked  the 
feel  of  her  against  him,  he  liked  the  eyelashes  curling 
from  her  eyes.    "  Say  something,  Philip  1  " 

"  Mamie,"  he  said  lamely,  "  it's  awfully  nice  of  you 
to  be  so — to  be — — " 

"  Hush,  Philip,  do  be  quiet !  " 

They  sat  thus  for  some  time,  Philip's  mind  drowsing 
in  an  unfamiliar  content.  They  rose  at  last  and 
separated  at  the  corner  of  the  lane.  When  he  thought, 
half  an  hour  later,  of  the  letter  which  had  not  been 
sent,  he  murmured,  "  Oh,  it's  all  right,  I'll  hear  to- 
morrow !  Nothing's  the  matter,  nothing ! "  He 
could  feel  still  the  softness  of  her  hair  on  his  cheek. 

Channah's  note  next  day  was  shorter  than  the  last. 
She  did  not  mention  her  oversight  of  the  previous  day. 
Once  more  the  signature  of  his  mother  lay  crooked  and 
inexpressibly  precious  at  the  foot  of  the  page. 

"  I  told  you  so  !  "  said  Mamie  triumphantly  that 
evening.  Absolutely  no  need  to  worry  !  Hold  my  arm 
a  wee  bit  tighter  !  " 

When  no  letter  arrived  the  following  day,  it  required 
no  great  effort  to  allay  the  pangs  of  unease.  "  To- 
morrow !  "  he  said.  "  It'll  be  all  right  to-morrow ! 
I  wish  Channah  weren't  so  lazy.  Now  mother's  getting 
better  there  really  isn't  any  excuse.  .  .  ." 

Channah's  note  of  the  next  day  was  almost  curt. 
"  Mother  getting  on  just  the  same.  Looking  forward 
to  your  coming  back." 

But  surely  there  was  a  change  in  mother's  signature  ! 
Oh,  surely !  He  took  his  wallet  from  his  pocket  and 
removed  the  two  letters  he  had  already  received.  A 
numbing  anxiety  gripped  him.  It  was  quite  impossible 
to  doubt  that  the  Yiddish  letters  of  the  latest  signature 
were  sprawling  about  weakly,  the  vertical  strokes  ending 


APHRODITE  229 

in  impotent  scratches.  "  God !  "  he  exclaimed  in 
sudden  fright.  "  Nothing  can  be  wrong  !  "  He  tried  to 
reassure  himself.  *'  She  was  very  tired,  that's  what  it 
is  !  Oh,  she's  all  right !  But  what  if  anything  were  to 
happen  to  her  while  I'm  away !  That's  absurd ! 
Can't  a  person  make  a  few  scratches  in  signing  a  letter 
without  giving  rise  to  silly  nightmare  ideas  ?  I  don't 
know  what  on  earth's  wrong  with  me  these  last  few 
days  !  I  wish  I  hadn't  met  Mamie  !  She  always  seems 
to  be  quarrelling  with  mother  inside  me !  What  on 
earth  is  wrong  with  me  !  What  have  I  got  to  drag 
Mamie  in  for  !  QuarreUing  with  mother  !  Isn't  that  a 
stupid  thing  to  say  about  the  poor  girl !  Poor  Mamie  ! 
Oh,  damn  Mamie  !  " 

They  had  made  an  appointment  for  that  evening  in 
a  quiet  angle  between  a  bam  and  a  hajncick.  "  I'll  be 
damned  if  I'll  go  and  see  her !  "  But  at  tea  that  day 
she  looked  towards  him  with  such  careful  languor  and 
winked  her  large  fine  eye  so  solemnly  that  his  resolve 
weakened.  "  After  all  she's  done  nothing !  I  wish  I 
weren't  so  anxious  about  mother,  things  would  be  so 
splendid  .  .  .  Would  you  pass  the  bread  and  butter, 
please  !    Thank  you  !  " 

She  kept  him  waiting  for  twenty  minutes.  He  fumed, 
his  temper  was  thoroughly  chafed.  "  Curse  it !  I'll 
go  back  home  to-morrow,  I  can't  bear  this  filthy  sus- 
pense !  What  does  she  mean  by  keeping  me  hanging 
about  like  this  !  "  A  corncrake  creaked  from  an  ad- 
jacent field.  "  Oh,  the  idiot !  "  he  swore.  "  I'll  wring 
its  dirty  neck  !  I'll  go  away  if  she  doesn't  turn  up  in 
three  minutes !  Can  anything  really  be  wrong  at 
home  !  After  all,  the  doctor  said  she  was  coming  round 
— oh,  blast  that  bird !  "  His  foot  knocked  angrily. 
"Hello!"  he  whistled.  "What's  that?"  From 
quite  close  at  hand  a  low  singing  travelled  towards  him. 


( 


280  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

It  was  a  cold  voice,  but  peculiarly  sweet.  It  was  a  mere 
tune,  without  meaning  or  words,  but  it  soothed  him  like 
a  cool  hand  on  the  forehead.  Its  pitch  was  low,  Hke  a 
tiny  bird's.  Probably  the  voice  could  not  be  heard 
at  all  a  few  yards  away.  The  singing  was  for  himself, 
a  message  !  Then  he  saw  a  slight  foot  and  a  blue  skirt 
emerge  beyond  the  corner  of  the  hayrick  and  black 
hair  floated  into  view.  The  warbhng  became  clearer, 
though  not  less  soft,  the  dark  eyes  of  Mamie  were 
beaming  upon  him  and  her  rich  red  Ups  were  ravishing 
their  music  upon  the  little  space  between  the  barn  and 
the  hayrick.  Philip  lay  back,  soothed  and  drowsed, 
the  melody  played  about  him  like  a  fountain. 

She  was  by  his  side,  having  said  not  a  word ;  her 
singing  was  reduced  to  the  very  verge  of  sound.  Then 
she  was  silent,  her  two  arms  round  PhiHp's  waist.  The 
corncrake  croaked  unheard.  He  put  his  two  hands  on 
her  cheeks  and  looked  into  her  eyes.  There  was  a 
glint  of  mockery  lurking  among  their  shadows. 

"  Can    I ? "    he    asked    whispering,    yearning, 

afraid. 

"  You  little  fool !  "  she  said.  And  saying  this,  she 
seemed  old  as  the  line  of  high  hills  which  swung  against 
the  southward  horizon.  From  a  gloom  of  generations 
she  spoke,  a  desiring  animal  voice  sounding  from  a 
depth  of  many  histories. 

"  You  little  fool !  Haven't  I  been  waiting  for  it ! 
Oh,  you  slowcoach  !  " 

His  lips  darted  hungrily  to  hers.  His  body  was  aflame. 
He  pressed  her  hard  against  his  breast.  His  lips  re- 
laxed, but  hers  were  still  passionate,  remorseless, 
unslacking.    Then  at  last  their  lips  fell  apart. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  and  there  was  a  hint  of  a  squeak 
in  her  voice.    "Oh,  now  wasn't  that  really  nice  !  " 

Even  now  he  had  room  to  be  shocked  at  her  unfor- 


APHRODITE  281 

tunate  choice  of  an  adjective.  "  Sweetheart !  "  he 
said,  "  It  was  more  !  It  was  full  and  golden  like  the 
harvest  moon !  It  was  like  a  flooded  river,  foaming 
gold  in  the  sunset !  It  was,  it  was — Oh,  for  God's 
sake  don't  let  me  make  a  speech  !       Kiss  me  !  " 

"  Oh,  but  I  Hke  you  to  !  Say  it  again,  Phihp  !  Take 
one  hand  away,  put  it  on  your  heart,  Hke  so  !  Now 
fire  away  !  " 

"  Mamie,  how  can  you  tease  a  chap,  now — now ! 
At  a  time  when " 

"  Now  you're  going  to  be  sloppy !  I  can  beat  you 
at  that  game  !  Bend  closer  1  "  she  enjoined,  playing 
her  fingers  about  in  his  hair.  "  How  do  you  Hke  this 
one  ? " 

The  lines  of  her  bosom  were  soft  and  only  half- 
secret  as  he  held  her,  looking  dazedly  into  her  eyes. 
He  was  kissing  her  eyelids  and  the  hollows  under  the 
eyes.  "  Philip  !  "  she  murmured,  "  How  delineate 
of  you !  " 

The  word  impinged,  now  as  he  kissed  the  slender 
fringe  of  those  dark  eyes,  unpleasantly  against  his 
skin.  But  she  lifted  her  eyelids  once  more  and  once 
more  he  was  drowning  in  sensuous  waters,  flickering 
weakly  down  dim  hghts  and  warm  opaque  shadows. 

They  said  Uttle.  It  was  all  a  playing  with  their 
faces  and  hands  and  lips.  He  seemed  to  be  growing 
deeper  and  deeper  into  her.  She  was  leaning  against 
him,  pale,  a  Httle  tired,  it  seemed.  Once  more  his 
head  was  stooping  to  her  lips.  Without  warning,  he 
found  her  rising  to  her  feet  and  standing  over  him. 

"  Mamie !  " 

"  We'd  best  stop  !  That'll  do,  Phihp  Massel !  Leave 
some  till  next  time.  ..." 

"  Mamie,  but  what  ..." 

"  Good-night !  " 


232  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

He  saw  her  pass  swiftly  from  view  as  slie  flickered 
round  tlie  angle  of  the  barn. 

"  Mamie  !  "  he  shouted.  "  What's  the  matter  ? 
What  on  earth  have  I  done  ?  " 

No  reply  came  back  to  him.  He  rose  a  little  dizzily 
and  came  out  into  the  evening.  He  saw  the  trees 
kissing  each  other  in  a  little  wind.  The  strange  sweet 
smell  of  her  kisses  was  on  his  lips.  He  saw  two  horses 
in  a  field  rubbing  their  heads  together.  Clouds  overhead 
kissed  and  mingled.  Leaves  fluttering  kissed  each 
other  and  darted  aloof,  only  once  more  to  bring  their 
lips  together.  He  heard  a  stream  along  the  field  where 
he  was  standing  so  crazed  and  tired,  lipping  and  kissing 
the  pebbles. 

' 'Mamie ! "  he  whispered.  ' ' She  loves  me ! "  Overhead 
the  cry  of  rooks  came,  raucously,  ironically.  *'  Don't 
beheve  it !  Don't  beheve  it !  Don't-you-beheve  it !  " 
Who  was  being  ironical  ?  Was  it  he,  was  it  the  rooks  ? 
"Don't  beheve  it!"  they  cawed.  "To  hell  with 
you  all !  "  he  shouted  into  the  black  vortex.  He 
hfted  his  hand  to  his  mouth  as  if  to  retain  there  the 
impress  of  her  Hps. 

"  1  needn't  be  a  fool  about  it !  "  he  muttered  through 
his  teeth. 

He  fell  asleep  that  night  with  a  sense  of  the  closeness 
of  her  face.  Dimly  and  dazed  he  remembered  that  her 
lips  had  seemed  to  drink  him  up.  Engulfed  in  her,  he 
lay  sleeping  at  length.  And  yet  was  he  truly  asleep  1 
From  what  world  came  this  enamel  can  with  the  rusted 
edges,  from  the  real  world,  from  the  world  of  unintel- 
ligible dreams  ?  Oh,  yes,  of  course ;  he  recognized  it ! 
It  was  the  can  that  hung  on  a  nail  over  the  scullery 
sink.  They  were  filhng  the  can  with  water,  unseen  and 
pale  hands  holding  it  to  the  guttering  tap.  "Don't 
think  of  them  !  "    the  girl  said,  "  think  of  my  lips  ! 


APHRODITE  238 

Aren't  they  jiiicy,  aren't  they  sweet  ?  "  But  proces- 
sionally,  as  though  that  cheap  can  were  a  flagon  of 
holy  wines,  they  were  bearmg  it  away,  along  the  lobby, 
and  towards  the  front  door.  The  cat  was  crying  eerily 
from  a  shut  room.  Tick — tick — tick  1  moaned  the  clock 
Candles  fluttering !  .  .  .  Good  girl,  Mamie !  Here  she 
was,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  tossing  hair !  Wouldn't 
let  them  have  it  all  their  own  way,  she  wouldn't! 
The  can  of  water  stood — why,  why  ?  stood  at  the  pave- 
ment's edge.  She  lifted  the  can  and  threw  the  water 
away,  but  the  can  dropped  from  her  fingers,  and  here 
once  more  was  the  can  at  the  pavement's  edge,  full  once 
more  with  dark,  mournful  waters.  "  Never  mind 
them  !  "  she  whispered.  She  bent  towards  him,  her 
eyes  desirous.  Yet  ever  quenchless,  like  a  vase  of 
tears,  the  can  stood  at  the  pavement's  edge.  And  here 
was  Mrs.  Levine,  sodden  flour  on  her  apron,  and  long, 
torn  wools  fluttering  from  her  shawl.  She  was  wringing 
her  hands.  She  bent  towards  the  can  of  water.  "  Look 
away  !  "  said  the  girl  fiercely.  A  rumbling  of  wheels.  .  . 
A  cock  was  crowing.  The  leaves  of  a  full  tree  were 
swishing  against  the  window.  Philip  opened  to  the  dawn 
red  and  apprehensive  eyes. 

But  his  first  remembrance  as  he  stared  towards^the 
oblong  of  eight  lights  was  not  the  girl,  not  all  t  the 
grape-dark  kissing  ;  it  was  a  sudden  stab  of  contrition 
— "  The  letter  !  My  mother's  signature  !  By  God, 
what  a  swine  I  was  !    I  forgot !  " 

Mrs.  Kraft  read  the  names  of  the  recipients  of  letters 
during  [breakfast.  Nothing  ?  Nothing  for  Philip 
Massel !  He  stared  savagely  towards  Mrs.  Kraft.  She 
might  have  read  out  his  name  alongside  of  the  fools  she 
had  mentioned  ;  he  needed  his  letter  a  thousand  times 
more  than  they  !     He  turned   resentful  eyes   towards 


234  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Mamie.  Mamie  was  chattering  sweetly  with  Mrs. 
Hannetstein.  He  stumbled  into  the  garden  and  sat 
disconsolately  against  a  trunk.  The  self-satisfied 
buzzing  of  a  bee  over  its  tremendously  exaggerated 
labours  annoyed  him  acutely.  Minutes  passed.  His 
despondency  and  irritation  became  more  and  more 
unbearably  stupid.  He  had  allowed  himself  to  forget 
her,  he  had  allowed  those  hungry  quiet  eyes  to  slip  from 
his  heaven,  he  had  allowed — oh,  what  a  maddeningly 
fierce  scarlet  was  the  geranium  in  those  precise  window- 
boxes  !  What  an  insane  monotony  of  triplicate  phrases 
that  shallow  fat  bird  sang  yonder,  the  bird  with  the 
mottled  breast !  What  a  gawky  youth  was  this  passing 
through  the  front  gate  with  a  bumpkin  leer  and  cork- 
screw feet,  a  foolish  little  ochre  envelope  held  stiffiy 
before  him  !  He  leaned  back  against  the  tree  and  closed 
his  eyes  tiredly.  How  long  would  it  take  before  she 
would  really  be  about  ?  Of  course  it  had  been  a  boast,  a 
joke,  that  she'd  have  a  monstrous  huggel  to  greet  his 
return  !    His  head  was  buzzing  foolishly. 

"  Philip  Massel !  A  telegram  for  you  !  "  Of  course 
that  had  nothing  to  do  with  him  !  Who  the  hell  was 
Philip  Massel,  anyhow  ?  He  heard  the  metalUc  tinkUng  of 
a  grasshopper,  and  saw  against  his  shut  eyelids  huge 
yellow  spheres  like  brandy-balls  and  blue  rings  and 
spectral  vapours. 

"  Philip  Massel !  Didn't  you  hear  ?  A  telegram,  I 
said !  " 

The  bumpkin  was  grinning  towards  him.  At  the  front 
door  Mrs.  Kraft  stood,  arm  outstretched.  Philip  turned 
a  frightened  face  from  youth  to  woman,  from  woman 
to  youth.    He  came  forward  and  opened  the  envelope. 

"  Mother  dangerous  return  immediately. 

Channah," 
he  read. 


APHRODITE  285 

A  blare  of  terror  sounded  in  his  brain  like  trumpets. 

"  Mrs.  Kraft !  "  he  choked.  ''  My  mother's  dying  ! 
Oh,  quick,  I've  got  to  go  home  !  " 

From  very  far  away  her  voice  came.  "  You  must 
have  some  hot  coffee  before  you  go  !  The  next  train's 
the  eleven-twenty  !  " 

"  You  don't  know  what  she's  like  !  "  said  Philip, 
burning  with  a  sudden  tremendous  desire  to  make  this 
woman  understand  over  whose  beloved,  intolerably 
beloved  head,  lay  hideous  shadow. 

"  I  know  !  "  the  woman  was  saying.  "  I've  been 
through  it  all !  "  She  had  taken  Philip's  arm.  "  Come 
in  now,  you  can't  go  off  at  once !  Poor  lad,  I'm 
sorry !  But  then,  perhaps,  all  will  turn  out  well. 
Jane !  "  she  shouted,  "  bring  some  strong  coffee  in  at 
once !  " 

"  I  don't  want  anything  !  "  he  said.  But  he  found 
the  coffee  scorching  his  palate  and  coursing  hotly  down 
his  throat.  He  found  Mrs.  Kraft  by  his  side,  as  he 
started  to  fold  things  into  his  bag  with  hands  which, 
uselessly  suspended  at  the  wrists,  seemed  to  be  lumps 
of  lead.  A  shirt  fell  from  his  fingers  to  the  floor  as 
though  it  were  woven  of  metal  threads.  Mrs.  Kraft 
bent  quietly  to  the  shirt,  folded  it  and  tucked  it  away; 
the  boy  for  one  moment  swung  round  to  look  at  her, 
through  a  gap  in  the  clouds  which  had  gathered  about 
his  head.  "  What's  been  wrong  with  me  all  this  time  ?  " 
he  speculated.  "  I've  never  seen  this  woman  before, 
I've  never  been  in  the  same  room  !  "  She  had  passed 
repeatedly  from  his  vision  like  a  cart  going  by  on  a 
crowded  road — bearing  no  lineaments  of  her  own, 
being  merely  a  thing  of  which  his  senses  had  been  half- 
conscious.  Was  she  stern,  forbidding  ?  He  did  not 
know.  Was  she,  as  she  seemed  now,  a  grave-eyed 
woman,  quiet,  full  of  pity  ?    How  could  he  argue  it 


236  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

out  now,  while  the  straps  were  fumbling  from  his 
ineffectual  fingers,  and  like  a  vigilant  automaton,  her 
hands  had  usurped  his  own  ? 

"  Harry  Levi !  "  he  heard  her  shout  into  the  garden. 
"  Go  with  Philip  Massel  to  the  station  and  carry  his  bag 
for  him  !  " 

She  mumbled  a  difficult  word  of  sympathy  and  the 
blank  door  lay  between  him  and  Mrs.  Kraft.  Three 
and  four  and  five  times  Harry  Levi  asked,  "  Is  she 
chucking  you  out,  Massel,  or  wot  is  it,  eh  ?  "  He  had  no 
quarrel  with  Harry  Levi.  There  was  no  reason  why 
he  should  not  be  civil  to  Harry  Levi ;  but  his  lips 
would  not  move,  and  the  roof  of  his  mouth  was  like 
burnt  crust.  Harry  Levi  relapsed  into  an  injured  and 
simmering  silence. 

There  were  minutes  of  waiting  at  the  station,  minutes 
blank  and  ugly  and  high  Uke  the  wall  of  a  factory.  The 
train  came  hurtling  in  from  among  the  hills,  uttering  as 
it  approached  the  station  a  lugubrious  and  prolonged 
howl.  The  howl  reverberated  through  all  the  corners 
of  Philip's  heart,  rocking,  shuddering,  dismally  dying 
away. 

He  was  in  the  train  at  last.  "  I  must  face  the  fact, 
I  must  face  the  fact !  "  Chu — chu — chu  !  the  train 
went,  chu — chu — chu!  "  Face  the  fact !  Face  the  fact  I " 
As  he  lay  in  the  corner  of  the  carriage,  huddled  Uke  a 
discarded  coat,  he  realized  that  the  fool's  paradise  in 
which  he  had  lived  lay  about  him  futile  and  desolate. 
A  puff  of  wind  and  the  walls  had  tottered,  there  was  a 
groaning  of  uprooted  beams,  a  smell  of  hot  dust,  over- 
head the  intolerable^eye  of  the  sun  looking  sourlyjdown  ! 
Fool  he  had  been !  Had  he  not  seen  her  dying  before 
his  eyes,  year  by  year,  day  by  day ! 

A  little  specious  voice  whispered,  "  But  Channah 
says  she's  only  ill.     She  doesn't  say — not  that !    Per- 


APHRODITE  287 

haps  it  won't  .  .  .  really,  Philip,  you  can't  tell  .  ^  . 
perhaps  .  .  .  !  " 

"  Dangerously  ill !  "  Philip  countered,  "  Danger- 
ously iU !  " 

"  Quite,  I  see  !  But  not — not  the  other  thing.  .  .  . 
Other  people  have  been  dangerously  ill  and  yet,  you 
know.  ..." 

It  was  only  the  somnolent  fat  man  opposite  to  him, 
whose  belly  curved  below  a  heavy  gilt  chain  and  whose 
huge  red  cheeks  cushioned  curved  long  eyelashes, 
who  prevented  Philip  from  leaping  to  his  feet  and  shriek- 
ing wildly.  "  Enough  of  your  lies  !  I've  allowed  my- 
self to  be  taken  in  long  enough  !  Oh,  for  God's  sake  be 
quiet  now,  be  quiet,  or  I'll  go  mad  !  " 
^The  puerihty,  the  futility  of  it  all !  And  had  he 
assured  himself  that  though  all  other  women  soever  in 
the  tremendous  history  of  the  world  had  died,  she  alone 
would  be  exonerate,  for  his  sake,  forsooth — she  who  now 
perhaps  was  l3ring  dead.  .  .  ?  No,  that  at  least  could 
not  be  !  She  would  wait  for  him.  By  God,  God  would 
pay  for  it  if  she  was  not  allowed  to  wait  for 
him ! 

Oh,  speed  on,  speed  on,  reluctant  and  sombre  train ! 
Devour  the  separating  miles,  throw  the  hills  behind  you, 
plunge  forward  to  the  cities,  speed  on  or  she  shaU  be 
dead  !  Oh,  carry  me  swiftly  to  her  waiting  eyes  !  Her 
eyehds  are  heavy  !  Keep  them  not  waiting  so  long  that 
they  shall  droop,  droop  !    Oh,  swifter,  swifter  ! 

What  mercy  could  he  expect  from  the  train  ?  Had 
he  not  known  aU  along  and  kept  the  knowledge  safely 
hidden  in  his  furthest  recesses  ?  Of  course  she  had 
insisted  on  his  going  away  from  her !  She  had  known 
that  this  was  coming  I  She  had  determined  to  keep 
him  immune  from  the  shadow  whose  fringes  she  knew 
to  be  even  then  hanging  over  the  house  in  Angel  Street  1 


288  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

But  it  had  been  for  him  to  stand  fast,  to  say — "  No» 
mother,  I'm  not  going !  Whatever  you  say,  I  must, 
I  will  be  with  you  !  "  She  would  have  understood  with 
that  wisdom  of  hers  which  lay  far  from  her  mere  lips, 
was  glimpsed  but  fitfully  in  the  cloudy  hollows  of  her 


Of  course  he  had  known !  What  else  had  he  meant 
by  that  insistence  on  her  signature  !  It  must  have  been 
patent  to  them  all  how  he  had  dared  to  go  in  the  teeth 
of  so  imperious  a  premonition  that  he  demanded  her 
handwriting  from  day  to  day.  That  girl.  .  .  .  !  The 
memory  of  her  pecked  at  the  flesh  between  his  ribs  like 
some  insatiable  bird  !  Kissing,  foohng  round  with  her 
hair,  her  lips,  while  she  lay  weakening,  dying.  A  sound 
crawled  through  his  teeth.  In  his  own  ears  it  was 
cavernous,  heavy,  loud.  Suddenly  self-conscious,  he 
looked  nervously  up  to  the  fat  man,  but  the  heavy  chin 
still  hung  placidly  relaxed  and  the  shoulders  were 
lifting  a  little  to  the  incipient  snores. 

The  window  beside  him  was  shut.  His  shirt  and  collar- 
seemed  to  have  fastened  tight  round  his  throat, 
choking  him.  He  dropped  the  window  with  a  crash  and 
the  cool  air  came  surging  in.  It  was  not  enough,  and  he 
set  his  face  out  against  the  jaws  of  the  wind  and  felt  its 
chilly  comfort  washing  the  roots  of  his  hair. 

Swifter,  swifter,  train,  absorb  the  miles  !  That  white 
house  below  the  chimney  stack  on  the  horizon  there, 
shall  we  never  outstrip  it  ?  Grinning  there  in  its  unap- 
proachable immobility  !  Ah,  now,  the  horizon  swivels 
round  on  a  pivot,  and  swift  for  your  callous  face,  oh, 
white,  grinning  house  !  Wind,  wind,  what  message  do 
you  bring  from  her  ?  Is  she  waiting  ?  No,  no,  I  shall 
not  come  too  late  ! 

Who's  speaking  ?  ''  That'll  do,  young  feller-me- 
lad  !  "    The  draught  has  awakened  the  dozing  fat  man. 


APHRODITE  239 

His  lips  vibrate  with  growing  indignation.  "  Shoot 
that  winder  oop  and  sit  tha  down  !  Awake  sin'  fower 
o'th'clock  and  tha  wilt  go  playin'  tricks  with  winders, 
wilt'a.  .  .  ?  " 

The  window  is  replaced  along  the  full  length  of  its 
groove,  and  with  a  rumbling  from  the  gills,  a  slight  out- 
raged crest-heavy  swinging,  the  fat  man  once  more 
slides  away  into  somnolence. 

What  shall  he  do  as  the  slow  miles  dawdle  by  ? 
Poetry !  How  long  he  has  deserted  poetry !  What 
strange  affinity  had  there  been  between  poetry  and 
beetles !  Rarely,  rarely  since  those  old  days  of  crack- 
ling wall-paper  and  whisperful  spent  cinders  where 
the  beetles  crawled,  had  a  pencil,  busy  a  moment  ago 
on  the  annotation  of  vacuous  texts,  found  itself  scrawl- 
ing rhymes  and  dreams.  He  had  felt  tha-t  poetry 
would  not  come  his  way  again,  but  now  .  .  as  the 
train  beat  like  a  living  pulse,  now  that  his  own  heart 
seemed  to  be  moving  forward  and  backward  again,  a 
great  shining  piston  ...  He  hunted  in  his  pockets  for  a 
pencil,  took  out  a  blunt  stump,  and  lifted  an  envelope 
from  the  same  pocket.  With  a  quick  dart  of  anguish  he 
realized  it  was  the  last  letter  he  had  received  from 
Channah,  where  already  the  signature  of  his  mother 
sprawled  with  the  impotence  of  death.  He  flung  the 
pencil  away  as  if  the  impulse  which  had  produced  it  from 
his  pocket  had  been  treason.  He  remembered  with  bitter 
mirth  an  anticipatory  consolation  he  had  once  frequently 
imbibed.  At  the  same  time  as  he  had  persistently 
assured  himself  of  his  mother's  immortality,  he  had 
whispered,  smirking,  "  Yes,but  when  she  does  die,  won't 
I  start  writing  wonderful  poetry !  Marvellous  elegies 
that'll  make  Gray  sound  like  a  threepenny  kettledrum  ! 
I'll  make  'em  sit  up  !  And  I'll  have  a  little  book  bound 
in  soft  red  leather.  ..."    The  tortured  lad  winced  as 


240  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

lie  brought  to  mind  the  old  fatuity.  He  would  make 
capital  out  of  her  death,  would  he,  little  books  bound  in 
soft  red  leather  !|^How|well  he  knew  now  he  would  be 
like  a  fallen  leaf  on  a  road  trodden  by  a  thousand  feet ! 

Oh,  swifter,  train !  Never  train  moved  so  slowly  1 
He  moved  from  against  the  fat  man  and  pushed  the 
opposite  seat  ludicrously  with  his  feet  to  bring  the  train 
sooner  to  Doomington. 

He  was  holding  the  envelope  in  his  hand.  And  he  had 
allowed  the  girl  called  Mamie  to  persuade  him  to  take 
no  alarm  in  the  weakening  of  the  signature.  He  had 
suppressed  the  instinct  from  swimming  into  clear  con- 
sciousness, the  instinct  to  return  at  once  before  the  hand 
weakened  into  the  last  torpor.  Now  at  length  the  con- 
test and  the  protagonists  of  which  his  mind  had  been 
the  arena  stood  starkly  before  him,  and  he  knew, 
with  what  shame,  what  despair,  who  had  prevailed. 
Mamie  and  a  tickling  of  the  lips,  shafts  of  shy  pleasure 
about  the  loins — and  his  mother,  waiting.  With 
abrupt  clarity,  the  enamelled  can  which  last  night  had 
prevailed  over  the  disorder  of  his  dreams,  returned. 
Now  clearly  he  reaUzed  the  heart-breaking  symbolism 
of  the  enamel  can  ;  not  merely  S3rmbolism  !  Soon  the 
can  should  be  not  merely  a  symbol,  but  a  fact ;  soon, 
perhaps  now ! 

In  all  his  forethought  of  death,  not  in  especial  relation 
with  his  mother,  but  with  anybody  he  loved  or  knew, 
one  element  in  the  Jewish  custom  had  brought  him 
most  distress.  Frequent  observation  had  instructed 
him  that  when  a  dead  body  lay  beyond  the  doors  of  a 
Jewish  house,  a  vessel  of  water  and  a  bucket  to  re- 
plenish it  were  placed  at  the  edge  of  the  pavement. 
As  the  living  passed  by  the  place  of  death,  the  vessel 
was  lifted  to  sluice  from  each  hand  alternately  of  the 
passer-by  the  contamination  issuing  from  the  melan- 


APHRODITE  241 

choly  doors.  It  was  a  sign  of  death  which  had  some- 
times come  upon  him  so  suddenly  but  with  such  in- 
controvertible assertion  that  it  had  long  filled  the 
crevices  of  his  mind  with  horror. 

The  actual  enamel  tin  of  his  dreams  he  also  recognized. 
It  had  been  condemned  a  long  time  ago  to  the  scullery 
at  Angel  Street,  because  the  enamel  had  been  chipped 
by  old  service  from  its  edges,  and  it  now  hung,  he  well 
remembered,  on  a  rusted  nail  by  the  sink.  It  had  been 
used  by  his  father  and  himself  for  the  hand-washing 
which  preceded  every  meal.  There  could  be  no  vestige 
of  doubt  that  when  the  time  came  for  this  desperate 
and  bitter  use,  the  enamel  can  would  be  Ufted  from  the 
nail  and  would  contain  cold  water  for  cleansing  at  the 
pavement's  edge. 

Ah,  how  he  reahzed  now  what  Mamie  was  endeavour- 
ing to  do  when  she  had  Hfted  the  enamel  can  in  his 
dreams  and  thrown  away  the  water,  and  the  can  had 
fallen  from  her  fingers.  Once  more  she  sought  to  delude 
him  into  believing  that  all  was  well,  that  the  deadly 
need  did  not  exist  for  the  cleansing  of  hands  at  the 
enamel  can.  Even  as  she  had  sought  to  assure  him 
that  all  was  well  with  the  writing  in  Channah's  letter  1 
Too  late !  There  at  the  pavement's  edge,  despite  her 
dupUcity,  the  enamel  can  lay  once  more,  its  little  lake 
of  grey  water  reflecting  the  grey  sky.  Here  came  a 
woman,  swaying  in  her  sorrow,  her  shawl  sHpping  from 
her  head !  She  stooped.  Over  the  knuckles  of  the  left 
hand  washed  the  water,  over  the  knuckles  of  the  right. 

Philip  shivered  suddenly.  What  if  he  actually  found 
the  enamel  can  outside  the  doorsteps  ?  Could  he  bear 
to  go  into  the  house  ?  No,  that  at  least  he  had  not 
deserved !  Not  that !  She  would  wait,  he  knew  she 
would  wait. 

But  see !    the  streets  were  now  set  thick  along  the 


242  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

path  of  the  railway,  dingy  parallels,  skulking  streets  at 
right  angles.  The  fields  had  long  been  engulfed  in  red 
brick,  grey  brick.  The  town  once  more  was  gathering 
about  his  lungs.  And  there,  pretentious,  ugly,  forbid- 
ding, like  the  policemen  for  whom  it  was  their  focal 
centre,  reared  the  chimney  of  the  prison  on  Doomington 
Road.  The  fat  man  blinked  with  alarm  as  the  train 
jarred  and  jolted  into  the  station. 

"  Doomington  !  "     Philip    murmured,    "  Be    kind, 
God  !  " 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  tramcar  stopped  at  a  corner  nearer  the  station  by- 
one  block  of  buildings  tban  Angel  Street.  Ra)rman, 
the  butcher,  was  hacking  away  with  indecent  enthusiasm 
at  a  hulk  of  ribs.  At  Lansky,  the  draper's,  unconcerned 
girl  assistants  were  measuring  lengths  of  cloth  by  out- 
stretching one  corner  and  lifting  the  other  to  the  teeth. 
Philip  noticed  with  an  acute  realization  of  detail  the 
stupid  cat  with  a  closed  eye  and  a  foolish  blue  ribbon 
round  its  neck  which  was  arching  its  back  lasciviously 
against  a  woman's  leg.  The  distance  he  had  walked 
could  scarcely  have  been  more  than  fifty  yards,  yet 
when  he  came  to  Moishele's  shop  at  the  corner  it  seemed 
to  him  for  one  moment  that  he  had  been  walking  and 
walking  since  dawn  broke.  Above  him  and  across 
the  intervening  gap  of  the  street,  on  the  side  wall  of 
the  "  Crown  Inn,"  and  over  the  advertisement  for 
Groves  and  Whitnall's  Ale,  he  read  on  an  oblong  plaque, 
"  Angel  Street." 

Angel  Street !  He  dared  not  put  into  words  what  he 
feared.  Must  he  turn  into  the  street  ?  Oh,  turn  swiftly, 
swiftly,  never  a  moment  to  lose !  A  small  clump  of 
figures  down  the  street  brought  momentary  terror  over 
his  blurred  eyes,  until  he  made  out  the  wheels  and  the 
containing  boards  of  a  fruit-handcart. 

Thank  God,  nothing !  Nothing  at  the  pavement's 
edge  outside  the  steps  of  his  father's  house !  Quietly 
he  knocked.    He  could  hear  his  heart  knocking  loudly 

243 


244  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

as  the  hand  knocked.  Channah  came  to  the  door ; 
pale  she  was,  with  wide,  dark  eyes.  A  spurt  of  light 
came  into  her  eyes  when  she  saw  Phihp  standing  there, 
then  the  light  flickered  away. 

"  How  is  she  ?  " 

"Bad!    Go  in  and  see!" 

"  Just  take  my  bag  away.  Oh,  Channah,  I  thought 
I'd  never  get  here  !  " 

"  Give  it  me  and  go  in !  She's  been  asking  for 
you!" 

"  But  why  didn't  you  send  for  me  before  1  Why  did 
you  let  me  stay  away  so  long  ?  How  could  you  do  it  ? 
If  I  hadn't  come  home  in  time,  Channah,  oh,  think.  .  .  " 

"  But  it's  all  been  so  sudden,  so  sudden  !  Only  two 
or  three  days  ago  she  broke  down  suddenly.  She  just 
crumpled  up.  You  never  saw  such  a  difference  in  a  day 
or  two  !  Oh,  it's  been  terrible  !  Let's  come  away,  we 
mustn't  keep  the  door  open !  Why  are  you  standing 
there  like  that,  Philip  !    Shake  yourself,  be  sensible  !  " 

"  Nothing,  Channah,  nothing  !  Oh,  tell  me,  why  did 
you  persuade  me  to  go  away,  both  of  you  ?  If  I  ever 
forgive  you,  can  I  forgive  myself  ?  " 

"  Philip,  let  me  close  the  front  door !  Come  in, 
don't  stand  like  a  stone !  I  can't  understand  you ; 
why  don't  you  go  in  at  once,  she's  been  asking  for  you, 
I  teU  you  !  " 

"  Don't  you  see  how  I'm  afraid  ?  It's  on  my  mind — 
what  I  just  said  !    Why  did  you  let  me  go  ?  " 

"  We  hadn't  the  least  idea  of  anything.  You'd  have 
upset  her  if  you'd  missed  the  chance.  You'd  have 
brought  it  about  sooner  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  she  really  meant  it — about  the 
kuggel  ?    Wasn't  she  just  joking  ?  " 

"  No.  She  wanted  to  get  up  to  make  you  some  and 
send  it  to  you !     Emmes,  Philip,  if  it  isn't  true  !  " 


APHRODITE  245 

He  had  been  standing  stiff  in  each  joint,  touched  as 
with  frost.  Suddenly  all  his  body  drooped.  His  voice 
fell  to  an  almost  unintelligible  whisper.  "  Let  me  go  in 
to  her.  .  .  .  !  " 

He  moved  the  few  steps  to  the  parlour  door  and  turned 
the  handle.  He  was  at  her  bedside.  Only  her  eyes  he 
first  saw.  They  were  larger,  warmer,  deeper  than  they 
had  been  at  any  time  before.  Because  of  the  eyes,  he 
was  not  immediately  conscious  with  the  whole  of  his 
mind  of  the  pallor  in  which  they  were  set :  not  merely 
pallor,  a  bloodless  yellow. 

But  the  consciousness  of  this  pallor  was  soaking 
through  each  pore  of  his  body  and  mind,  even  as  he 
bent  to  kiss  her  powerless  lips  ;  even  as  he  rose  and  was 
saying,  "  Look,  mother,  mother !  I'm  back  from 
Wenton  !  "  The  consciousness  of  her  pallor  so  steeped 
each  atom,  each  corpuscle  in  him  that  he  became 
yellow  as  she.  Still,  for  her  sake,  he  held  his  lips  firm 
against  his  teeth,  subdued  the  impulse  in  his  four  limbs 
to  fling  themselves  wildly,  wildly,  upon  the  floor.  She 
was  too  weak  to  answer.  He  saw  her  mouth  endeavour 
to  frame  words  and  abandon  the  attempt.  Only  by  a 
lifting  of  the  eyelids  she  showed  the  joy  at  the  centre  of 
that  waning  heart,  and  by  the  dim  flush  of  colour  which 
spread  across  her  cheeks. 

He  knew  not  for  what  length  of  time  he  stood  motion- 
less over  a  body  so  thin  it  hardly  seemed  to  break  the 
line  of  the  counterpane.  At  last  he  became  aware  that 
the  door  had  opened  and  Channah  had  come  through. 

"  Let  me  just  come  near  her,  Philip,  I'll  see  if  she 
can  take  a  drop  of  milk  !  Dorah's  in  the  kitchen  !  She 
wants  you  to  go  in  and  have  some  food  !  " 

"  Not  now  !  "  he  whispered. 

There  was  a  shuffling  with  utensils  on  the  bedside 
table.    The  sound  seemed  to  relax  a  chain  which  had 


246  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

held  the  boy  taut.  He  staggered  a  few  steps  and,  per- 
ceiving the  moth-eaten  yellow  plush  arm-chair  near  him, 
he  sank  into  it  with  convulsive  abandonment.  Now  he 
became  consciously  and  fully  aware  of  the  shock  he  had 
endured.  Sometimes  in  his  dreams  he  had  seen  her  dead. 
One  dream  of  them  all  had  lifted  his  eyelids  at  mid- 
night from  eyes  glassy  with  horror.  Now  as  it  came  back 
to  him,  he  winced  and  writhed.  He  had  seen  her  head 
lying  on  that  copper  tray  where  each  Sabbath  eve  she 
had  placed  the  uncut  bread  before  her  husband.  Be- 
side her  head  lay  a  squat  beaker  of  wine,  the  beaker 
over  which,  before  the  meal  began,  Reb  Monash  incanted 
the  kiddush  with  shut  eyes.  In  a  groping,  childish  way 
he  had  endeavoured  to  exorcise  the  terror  of  this 
dream  by  rationahzing  it,  by  relating  the  hideous  phan- 
tasm to  the  fabric  of  reality.  He  knew  that  the  copper 
tray  gleaming  always  like  smooth  dark  mahogany 
might  stand  as  symbol  of  the  heavy  labours  which 
year  by  year  reduced  her  to  a  ghost.  She  had  the  Jewish 
housewife's  intense  pride  in  the  cleanliness  and  beauty 
of  her  home.  Each  Thursday  evening  the  kitchen  table 
was  littered  with  trays,  brass  candlesticks,  beakers, 
tins  of  polish,  dusters.  Though  the  reek  of  the  polish 
was  ofiensive  to  her  lungs  and  sent  her  into  fits  of 
coughing,  no  Thursday  evening  saw  the  arduous  ritual 
abated  by  one  iota.  But  PhiUp  knew  that  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  dream  lay  deeper  than  this.  Obscurely 
he  realized  that  the  beaker  of  wine  represented  all  the 
sacerdotalism  of  his  race  ;  in  some  way  far  too  pro- 
found for  his  guessing  the  vision  of  the  severed  head 
was  complicated  with  that  antique  ritual,  so  magnificently 
alive  and  yet  so  ineffably  dead.  The  head  was  lying  on 
that  tray  of  her  own  devoted  polishing  throughout 
the  doomed  years,  lying  as  an  offering  to  the  impendent 
bearded  God  of  his  race.    The  cavernous  lips  opened  as 


APHRODITE  247 

the  beaker  rose  to  their  glooms.  "  I  am  that  I  am  !  " 
a  voice  moaned  among  endless  colonnades  of  hills 
toppling  towards  the  verges  of  space.  How  came  it 
that  the  eyes  of  Jehovah  aloof  among  the  chasmed 
clouds  were  the  eyes  of  Reb  Monash,  sitting  upon  his 
peculiar  and  inalienable  chair  in  the  corner  of  the 
kitchen  ?  And  the  copper  tray  was  a  lake  profound 
with  many  distances  and  many  generations  where  dim 
ancestral  shapes  flickered  from  deep  to  deep.  Twofold 
tyrannies  along  the  deliberate  reaches  of  the  Nile, 
wildernesses  and  weak  lads  straggUng  and  dying  in 
the  wake  of  the  wanderers,  smitten  lands  of  exile, 
Kossacken  galloping  in  with  sabres  and  flung  beards,  a 
slight  lad  crumpled  in  a  moth-eaten  yellow  plush  arm- 
chair, crumpled,  broken,  too  mournful  for  any  tears. 

He  had  seen  her  dead  in  dreams,  but  never  so  pale,  so 
shrunken  as  now,  her  mouth  retaining  little  if  any  at  all 
of  the  weak,  warm  milk  Channah  was  lifting  on  a  spoon. 
An  ague  shivering  visited  his  whole  body.  Clearly 
he  brought  her  to  mind  as  she  hovered  round  him  with 
cherries  and  tea  on  those  immortal  afternoons  ;  he  saw 
her  struggling  with  the  Acroceraunian  mountains,  her 
lips  humorously  twisting  to  shape  the  alien  syllables. 
He  remembered  the  quiet  pride  with  which,  long  ago, 
she  had  regarded  Reb  Monash  as  he  sat  oracular  in  his 
chair,  his  admirers  drinking  with  reverent  avidity  the 
wine  of  wisdom  flowing  from  his  lips.  The  boy's  throat 
shook  with  harsh,  suppressed  sobs. 

Channah  spoke.    "  Philip,  she's  calling  to  you  1  " 

Not  a  tear  had  risen  to  his  eyes.  He  bent  over  his 
mother  with  a  wan  smile.  Weakly,  slowly,  she  spoke. 
He  knew  that  she  had  been  lying  there,  waiting  to  sum- 
mon up  the  strength  with  which  to  frame  a  few  words. 

"  Nu,  Feivele,  my  own  one.  Art  thou  feeUng  stronger 
for  being  away  ?  " 


248  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  Mother,  loved  one,"  he  replied  in  her  own  Yiddish. 
"  Yes,  stronger.  But  I  had  rather  I  had  been  with 
thee !  " 

"  Speak  not  thus  !  I  was  happy  to  think  of  thee 
among  the  fields.  Didst  thou  have  a  special  egg  a  day 
and  milk  ?  " 

"  I  did  !  But  no,  mother,  thou  must  not  talk  more  ! 
Thou  art  not  strong  now,  but  wait,  wait  .  .  .  when 
thou  art  better.  ..." 

1^  "  Be  thou  not  a  child !     Feivele,  I  am  going  .  .  . 
going.  ..." 

The  words  were  smothered  in  a  tiny  dry  coughing. 
Channah  came  forward  to  help  her.  He  turned  his  head 
away  from  the  forlorn  struggle. 

Reb  Monash  had  been  to  the  Polisher  Shool  for  minchah. 
He  returned,  and  stood  at  the  door,  large-eyed,  haunted. 

"  Thou  art  back,  Feivele  ?  "  he  said.  He  seemed  to 
be  searching  for  further  words,  but  nothing  came.  The 
voice  seemed  to  PhiHp  to  strike  against  his  skin,  then  to 
fall  away  dully  to  the  floor. 

"  Yes,  tatte,  yes,"  he  said  mechanically,  and  the  ab- 
stract sphere  in  which  his  mother  dying  and  his  grief 
and  himself  seemed  to  be  encrystalled,  closed  round  him 
again  in  separating  completeness. 

All  day  greedily  he  remained  with  her,  knowing 
with  a  mournful  exultance  that  when  she  gathered 
strength  she  would  say  a  few  words  to  him  ;  yet  when 
these  moments  came,  saying  "  Hush,  mamma,  not 
now  !  Sweetest,  hush  !  "  bending  over  her,  faintly 
touching  her  forehead. 

A  long  time  had  passed,  and  he  was  conscious  not 
merely  of  hunger,  but  of  a  concrete  clawed  weakness 
tearing  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  before  he  allowed 
Channah  to  take  him  into  the  kitchen  and  cut  some 
slices  of  bread  and  butter  for  him  and  fill  a  pint  mug 


APHRODITE  249 

with  tea.  Dorah  was  there  putting  washed  plates  on 
the  shelves,  and  as  Channah  sat  down  at  the  table,  she 
moved  away  to  the  parlour  to  take  her  place.  Channah 
was  sittmg  opposite  to  him,  herself  sipping  tea,  not  with 
any  interest,  but  because  she  knew  that  nothing  had 
crossed  her  lips  since  morning. 

There  had  been  long  silence  while  Philip  ate  and 
drank,  his  attention  wandering  frequently  from  the  food 
till  Channah  with  a  watchful  word  recalled  his  wits. 

"  Channah,"  he  said  suddenly,  "  when  will  she  die  ?  " 

She  was  startled.   Her  cup  clattered  on  the  saucer. 

"  Philip  !  "   she  said,  in  remonstrance. 

"  Channah,"  he  repeated,^'  tell  me,  when  will  she 
die  ?    That's  what  I  want  to  know,  how  long  is  there  ?  " 

He  was  speaking  in  regular,  subdued  tones,  with 
hardly  an  inflection  in  his  voice.  It  seemed  the  voice 
almost  of  one  talking  in  his  sleep.  An  instinct  com- 
manded her  to  remonstrate  no  further,  to  fall  in  at  once 
with  this  strange  mood,  to  adopt  his  tones,  to  reply  with 
no  equivocation. 

"  Not  long.  Three  days  ago  the  doctor  said  she'd 
last  a  week.  Yesterday  he  said  she  couldn't  last  above 
two  or  three  days.  But  only  think — if  it  had  happened 
before  you  came  back  !  " 

The  last  consideration  made  no  impression.  "  Not 
more  than  two  or  three  days  more  ?  "  he  repeated. 

She  nodded. 

"  That  was  yesterday  ?  "  he  said.  "  So  to-morrow  is 
the  latest." 

"  To-morrow  is  the  latest." 

*  *  Mother  will  die  to-morrow.  The  day  after  to-morrow- 
she  will  be  dead.   What  is  the  day  after  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  To-day's  Friday.    It'll  be  Sunday  !  " 

His  voice  gathered  urgency.  "  Boys  must  go  to 
funerals  ?  "    he  demanded. 


250  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  They  must,"  she  said,  "  they  always  do !  We 
don't  go,"  she  added.    "  You  must  go  for  us  !  " 

"  There  will  be  no  mother  the  day  after  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Philip,"  she  wailed,  "  why  must  you  go  on  like 
that  ?  I  can't  bear  it !  It's  been  bad  enough,  but  this 
is  worse.  You're  looking  and  talking  so  funny  I  can't 
make  you  out.  Go  on  with  your  tea,  it's  getting  cold  ! 
I'll  put  in  some  tea  from  the  teapot,  shall  I  ?  "  She 
hastened  to  the  fire  on  unsteady  feet. 

"  Cold,"  he  was  repeating,  "  the  day  after  to- 
morrow ! " 

She  left  the  fire  and  crossed  over  to  him.  "  Philip, 
don't !  "  she  implored.  She  shook  him  by  the  shoulders 
as  if  he  were  relapsing  into  dangerous  sleep. 

He  blinked.  There  was  a  grinding  in  his  head  like 
a  clock  running  down.  "  Poor  old  Channah,  I'm  sorry  ! 
I  was  hungry  and  it's  made  me  dizzy.  What  a  pig 
I've  been  !    What  have  I  been  saying  ?  " 

"  It's  all  right,  I  was  only  joking !  "  she  assured 
him.  "  Be  a  good  old  boy,  now,  Philip,  and  have  some 
more  tea !  You  can't  make  things  any  better  by 
not  eating  !  "  she  insisted,  "  So  let's  try  and  be  sensi- 
ble 1  " 

"  Oh,  it's  all  right,  Channah  !  You  just  get  on  with 
your  own,  I've  had  enough.  I  can't  stay  away  any 
longer.  You've  been  attending  to  her  all  this  time, 
while  I've  been — I've  been "  he  paused  and  grim- 
aced, "I've  been  enjoying  myself.  I  must  go  in  straight 
away.    You  keep  on  with  your  tea." 

But  as  soon  as  he  closed  the  kitchen  door  behind  him, 
she  fumbled  for  her  handkerchief  in  her  blouse  and 
withdrew  to  the  scullery,  her  shoulders  rocking. 

He  was  only  slightly  conscious  of  the  people  that 
came  in  to  see  how  she  was  and  of  his  father  sitting 
speechless  in  the  corner,  and  Dorah  busy  with  one 


APHRODITE  251 

thing  and  another.  He  resented  the  appearance  of 
the  doctor  and  his  cursory  examination  of  her,  the 
negative  shaking  of  his  head  towards  Reb  Monash. 
What  was  there  still  to  be  done  ?  What  need  was  there 
to  underline  so  black,  so  ineluctable  a  fact  ?  Perhaps  if 
he  had  more  frequently  envisaged  the  possibility  of 
her  death  formerly,  even  in  the  face  of  her  lying  so 
wasted  on  the  bed  before  him  he  might  have  dared  to 
entertain  a  wild  flicker  of  hope.  But  having  only  in 
dreams  seen  her  dead  hitherto,  and  then  with  such 
indignation  and  terror  even  in  the  depths  of  his  sub- 
conscious heart  that  he  would  awake  fighting  the  dark, 
now  the  pulse  of  his  soul  was  smothered  in  an  icy 
certitude,  and  he  would  allow  no  forlorn  gleam  of  hope 
to  lead  him  away  from  her,  from  this  last  intense 
communion  of  which  the  sands  were  running  out, 
moment  by  ashen  moment. 

There  was  a  murmuring  like  wings  about  their  heads 
and  about  them  the  shuffling  of  clumsy  feet  attempting 
to  achieve  a  vain  silence.  Sometimes  he  would  find 
Reb  Monash  hanging  over  them,  or  Channah  and  Dorah 
whispering  together.  One  of  them  might  smooth  a 
pillow  or  lift  a  spoon  to  her  lips.  And  though  he  knew 
that  these  things  were  happening  within  the  same  four 
walls  as  contained  his  mother  and  himself,  in  the  limit- 
less egotism  of  his  grief  it  seemed  to  him  that  walls  far 
other  than  these  held  them  in  a  remote  world,  together, 
inseparable,  undisturbed. 

Imperceptibly  day  had  thickened  into  dusk  and  dusk 
into  night.  The  incandescent  mantle  chuckled  and 
flared  unevenly.  The  last  neighbour  had  tearfully  with- 
drawn. He  knew  that  several  times  Dorah  had  spoken 
to  him  and  that  he  had  answered,  yet  with  no  know- 
ledge of  the  words  his  lips  were  actually  shaping.  At 
last  he  reaUzed  that  both  his  sisters  were  urging  him  to 


252  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

go  away,  to  go  to  bed.  Channah  was  trying  to  draw 
him  from  tlie  chair  where  he  sat  leaning  over  the 
bed. 

"  No,  no,  I'm  not  going  !  "  he  said. 

"  But  you  must  go  !  Channah  and  I  .  .  ."  started 
Dorah. 

"  Go  !  "   said  Channah,  "  only  for  a  few  hours  !  " 

"  I  tell  you  I've  been  away  all  these  days  and  I'm 
not  going  away  for  a  second  now !  Let  me  be  quiet, 
both  of  you  !  You  go  to  bed  !  Can't  I  see  you've  been 
up  every  night,  while  I've  been  sleeping  in  comfort 
over  there,  not  knowing  anything  !  "  He  dropped  his 
voice  to  a  tone  of  appeal.  "  Do  let  me  stay  !  If  she 
wants  an5rthing,  I  can  manage  it.  Dorah,  you  ought  to 
go  up  to  be  near  father !  "  He  found  himself  dimly 
conscious  for  the  first  time  since  his  return  of  his  father's 
pallor,  his  ghost-like  silence.  The  vague  picture  of  his 
father  faded  away. 

"  I'll  go  for  two  or  three  hours !  "  said  Dorah. 
"  When  I  come  down,  you  must  go  up  at  once  !  "  Her 
lanky  figure  bent  awkwardly  over  Mrs.  Massel.  Her 
thin  lips  touched  the  forehead  fleetingly.  Channah 
threw  herself  down  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed  and 
babbled  incoherent  words. 

"  Go  thou,  go,  my  own  one  !  "  murmured  her  mother. 
"  Thou  hast  not  slept— how  long !  Go,  darling,  sleep, 
sleep !  " 

There  followed  silence  after  the  women  had  withdrawn. 
Not  a  word  passed  between  his  mother  and  Philip. 
Sometimes  she  would  close  her  eyes  for  some  minutes, 
then  open  them  once  more  full  and  deep  upon  her  son's. 
He  remembered  how  Time  had  been  so  dilatory  in  the 
train  ;  how  he  had  wanted  hours  to  shrivel  into  minutes, 
the  long  minutes  to  be  brief  as  a  spark.  Now  Time 
moved    too    swiftly,    with    deadly    deliberate    speed. 


APHRODITE  258 

Beyond  the  parlour  window  and  high  beyond  the  houses 
on  the  other  side  of  Angel  Street,  he  heard  the  galloping 
of  horses  and  the  abateless  revolutions  of  wheels.  Oh, 
that  the  moments  could  expand  into  hours,  and  the 
hours  once  more  into  the  years  in  which  he  had  loved 
her  so  little  and  she  had  loved  him  so  well,  so  well 
despite  the  danger  that  lay  between  and  the  cloud  that 
had  always  enveloped  them. 

But  now  at  least  there  was  no  danger,  no  cloud ; 
nothing  hindered  their  unity.  The  whispering  of  Doom- 
ington,  that  ceased  not  even  in  a  snow-muffled  winter 
midnight,  now  on  all  sides  withdrew,  leaving  the  dim 
parlour  in  Angel  Street  aloof  and  calm.  The  incandes- 
cent light  choked  and  spat  no  more.  A  still  light, 
steadier  than  the  moon,  less  garish  than  the  tree-shaded 
twilight  of  glades,  invested  the  room,  converting  each 
object  there  into  a  significance  beyond  ugUness  and 
beauty.  All  accidentals  of  space  and  birth  and  time 
were  stripped  from  the  woman  on  the  bed,  from  the  boy 
at  her  side.  She  was  the  mother,  he  was  the  son,  nothing 
more.  There  was  a  pulsation  in  the  air,  between  them 
and  about  them,  liiiing  them  though  they  were  far 
apart  as  Aldebaran  and  the  Earth,  though  she  lay 
crumbling  under  her  wooden  lid  and  he  strode  sun- 
engirdled  over  the  morning  hills. 

How  long  this  thing  lasted  the  boy  did  not  know  at 
all,  for  he  did  not  even  know  that  it  came.  He  only  knew 
that  Channah  was  peering  round  the  door,  fearful  of 
waking  them  if  they  had  fallen  asleep.  She  wondered 
how  it  came  that  his  face  was  shining  as  with  dawn, 
though  still  the  night  was  deep  and  the  black  incandes- 
cent gas  flared  and  gasped.  She  wondered  also  at  the 
smile  which  lay  curled  at  the  edges  of  her  mother's  lips. 
She  saw,  at  one  moment,  how  his  eyes  looked  calmly 
towards  hers,  and  how  the  next  moment  his  head  had 


254  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

fallen  limply  on  his  breast.  She  came  forward  swiftly 
to  prevent  him  slipping  to  the  ground. 

He  awoke  to  find  himself  lying  under  a  blanket'Jin  his 
own  former  bedroom,  whither,  he  learned  later,  Dorah 
and  Reb  Monash  had  lifted  him.  He  stared  unseeing 
for  some  time  into  the  blotched  ceiling,  then  the  words 
came  tolling  against  his  ears,  "  The  Last  Morning ! 
The  Last  Morning !  "  He  did  not  at  once  seize  the 
meaning  of  the  phrase.  He  knew  merely  that  this 
morning  was  to  be  an  ending  of  things.  But  when  the 
phrase  became  particularized,  whose  last  morning  had 
dawned,  slowly  he  rose  from  his  bed  as  a  doomed  man 
for  the  gallows. 

It  was  morning.  The  blind  had  been  drawn,  but  they 
had  left  the  gas  feebly  talking  in  the  incandescent 
burner.  Shadowy  people  had  already  gathered  in  the 
lobby  and  there  were  several  neighbours  in  the 
parlour.  Reb  Monash  was  standing  over  her  bed 
listening  to  the  faint  words  she  was  endeavouring  to 
shape.    A  flicker  of  jealousy  touched  the  boy's  heart. 

*'  Monash,"  she  said,  "  it  is  shahhos,  yes  ?  " 

"  Yah,  Ohayah,  the  Holy  Day  !  " 

"  Ah,  gutt,  gutt .'  " 

She  could  say  no  more.  He  observed  how  the  neigh- 
bours would  make  way  to  give  each  other  the  privilege 
of  being  within  the  dying  woman's  room  for  some 
minutes.  Death  seemed  to  be  in  the  room  with  all  the 
actuality  of  physical  presence.  He  seemed  to  be  stand- 
ing over  Philip's  head  leaning  dark  branches  about  him 
like  a  tree.  .  .  .  No,  he  would  not  let  the  futile  gas  burn 
there  while  the  sun,  while  even  the  warped  sun  of  Doom- 
ington,  shone  into  the  room  !  What  were  all  these 
people  doing  here,  treading  softly  in  and  out  ?  Did 
they  hope  that  she  would  carry  a  brief  for  their  souls 
into  that  country  whither  she  was  shortly  adventuring  ? 


APHRODITE  255 

The  clock  !  the  clock  !  How  it  ticked  relentlessly  on 
the  mantelpiece,  a  large,  round  alarm  clock  with  a  pale 
face  I 

Channah  was  whispering.  **  I  think  she  wants  you  1  " 
He  brought  his  ear  close  to  his  mother's  lips. 

"  Shahhos,"  she  said,  "  the  Holy  Day !  Before  shabbos 
goes,  I  am  no  more,  son  mine  !  " 

Should  he  say — the  words  were  almost  on  his  lips — 
*'  Mother,  mother  !  The  sun's  shining  !  You  will  be 
strong  yet !  That  dress  of  satin  I  always  wanted  to 
buy  you,  I  will  buy  you  soon.  You  will  sit  in  the  parlour 
like  a  queen,  only  making  cakes  sometimes,  for  yom 
tov  !  I  will  take  your  arm  and  we  will  go  out  into  the 
green  fields.  Birds,  mother  !  And  blossom  on  the  trees  ! 
Even  yet,  mother,  even  yet !  "  There  was  no  time  for 
lovely,  false  hopes.  He  said  not  a  word,  but  she  knew 
how  he  was  closer  than  he  had  been  since  the  days  when 
he  lay,  a  fluttering  lifeless  life,  under  her  heart. 

The  clock  !  The  clock  !  There  was  a  whispering, 
a  treading.  Some  one  had  arrived.  They  bent  to  his 
ear  and  said,  "  It's  from  the  shool.  Some  one  has 
come  to  say  the  '  Hear,  0  Israel ! '  Let  him  be  near !  " 

Channah  took  him  by  the  arm.  "  Come  to  the  door. 
Just  while  the  man's  there  !    Come  !  " 

A  low  wailing  rose  from  the  room.  "  Oh  God,  Channah," 
he  cried,  "  Oh,  why  do  they  make  all  this  ceremony 
out  of  dying  I  Why  can't  they  let  her  lie  quietly  ? 
Did  you  hear  how  her  breathing  went  heavier  ?  She 
wants  to  die,  she's  so  tired  !  And  they  won't  let  her  ! 
Oh,  listen  to  them,  send  them  away  !  Let's  be  alone 
with  her !  " 

The  shadow  in  the  room  when  they  returned  seemed 
palpable.  He  could  make  out  no  sound,  no  appearance 
clearly,  save  her  face,  and  the  laboured  breathing.  And 
the  clock  !  always  ticking,  dispassionately,  relentlessly  ! 


256  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Always  the  clock  !  A  rattling  in  her  throat  compHcated 
her  breathing. 

"  Channah,"  said  the  boy,  "  Channah,  look  at  the 
clock !  '*  His  voice  was  hard,  mechanical.  "  It's 
a  quarter  to  nine.  At  nine  o'clock  she'll  be 
dead !  " 

"  Feivele  !  "  his  father  whispered.  "  She's  said  thy 
name  !    Go  1  " 

"  Mother,  lovely,  I'm  here  !  What  wilt  thou  ?  Ah, 
see,  I'm  here  !  " 

"  Thou  wilt  be,  Feivele,  say  it— thou  wilt  be  always  a 
good  boy  ?  And  think  ...  of  thy  mother  ?  Thou 
say  est  yes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mutter  meine,  yes  !  " 

"  And  love  Channah  ?  And  all,  all  ?  So,  I  am  happy  1 
Remember,  thou,  Feivele  !  " 

The  clock  stealing,  stealing  forward  !  Not  the  banded 
powers  of  Heaven  shall  hold  the  clock-finger  from 
moving  forward  over  that  space  black  with  doom  ! 
Tick-tock  !  wild  eyes  of  Channah,  Dorah  wringing  her 
hands !  Tick-tock !  bearded  face  of  Reb  Monash, 
wrapped  like  a  forest  in  its  griefs  !  Tick-tock  !  a 
wailing  in  the  air  like  trees  when  the  wind  goes  about 
mournfully  !  Tick-tock  !  the  rattling  in  her  throat ! 
Oh,  the  falling  chin,  the  glazing  eye,  Oh,  dead,  dead  .  .  . ! 
Tick-tock  .  .  .  !  tock.  .  .  .  ! 

"Waters  flowing  over  his  head  where  he  lay  prostrate 
on  the  beach  !  Dark  green  engulfing  waters  drowning 
him  beyond  grief  or  tears  !  TrickUngs  through  his 
nostrils  and  oozings  along  the  channels  of  his  brain, 
runlets  boring  through  the  drums  of  his  ears,  surge 
after  surge  gurgling  over  his  lips  and  into  the  bursting 
throat !  And  how  bitter  the  taste  of  the  foam,  en- 
crusting his  palate  with  a  scurf  of  salt,  bitter  as  ashes, 


APHRODITE  257 

as  sand !  A  low  desolate  bell  swinging  ceaselessly  in 
this  world  of  sunken  waters,  as  if  the  doom  of  oceans 
and  lands  had  been  pronounced,  and  all  souls  must 
bestir  themselves,  howsoever  long  ago  they  were  clad 
in  flesh ! 

And  always  a  whispering,  and  a  secret  sound  of  feet 
even  so  low  under  the  water's  rim,  whither  no  sun 
attained,  where  the  bell  swung  to  and  fro  in  the  lapse  of 
glooms.  The  fantastic  denizens  of  these  waters  !  Things 
with  large  phosphorescent  eyes  shedding  tears  that 
flickered  down  the  watery  darkness  like  worms  of  fire ! 
Things  with  shuffling  feet  and  lolling  heads,  bearded 
things  with  wise  and  cavernous  skulls,  and  one,  shaped 
like  a  small  woman,  appearing,  disappearing,  busy  on 
important  offices  beyond  all  scrutiny !  They  would 
stand  over  him,  staring  with  meaningless  kindness 
through  the  weeds  which  swayed  and  swung  over  his 
body.  They  would  endeavour  to  lift  his  hands  from 
their  laxity  to  receive  the  oflerings  they  brought, 
would  lift  their  offerings  to  his  lips,  but  too  bitter  was 
the  savour  of  brine  on  his  tongue  and  his  head  too  weary  ! 
He  would  turn  away  from  them,  burying  his  face  in  the 
clammy  sands.  There  had  long  been  a  filtered  light  in 
the  waters  which  engulfed  the  world  ;  the  light  thickened 
into  opaque  walls.  He  could  see  no  more  the  lolling 
heads,  that  busy  strange  woman  who  came  and  went. 
Only  darkness,  and  for  how  long !  Even  the  bell  was 
muffled  almost  to  nothingness,  the  bell  was  more  a 
sense  than  a  sound,  the  bell  seemed  to  be  tolling  from 
the  deeps  of  his  own  body  where  he  lay  unstarred, 
tolling  from  below  his  bones  and  making  the  arm 
which  lay  across  his  breast  lift  and  fall  away.  Once 
more  the  light  returning  and  the  sound  of  feet  and 
the  bell  louder  tolling,  louder  and  ever  louder,  until 
the  metal  against  which  the  tongue  beat  and  clamoured, 


258  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

burst  into  a  thousand  fragments,  and  he  knew  that  he 
shook  with  sobs  ! 

Over  him  stood  the  busy  woman ;  Mrs.  Finberg  she 
was,  the  shroud  maker,  oJBiciator  at  deaths.  She  waited 
till  the  hollow  sobbing  subsided,  then  pressed  on  him 
hot  cup  of  tea.  This  time  he  did  not  refuse,  did  not 
turn  his  head  and  bury  it  in  the  escaping  stuffing  of 
the  sofa. 

After  some  moments  he  rose  and  opened  the  kitchen 
door.  He  found  Channah  proceeding  towards  the 
lobby. 

"  When  will  it  be,  Channah  ?  "  he  asked,  "  Is  it 
arranged  ?  " 

"  When  wiU  what  be  ?  " 

"  You  know,  the  funeral,  I  mean  !  " 

"  It  won't  be  more  than  a  few  hours  now  !  " 

"  But  I  don't  understand  !  Not  more  than  a  few 
hours  !    What's  the  time  now  ?  " 

"  It's  just  after  nine  !  " 

"  Nine  o'clock  ?    But  she  died  at  nine  o'clock  !  " 

She  drew  back  frightened.  "  But  that  was  yesterday  !  " 

"  Yesterday  ?  Oh,  what's  the  matter  with  me  ?  Is  it 
Sunday  just  now  then  ?  " 

"  Of  course  it  is  !    It  was  shahhos  yesterday  !  " 

"  Of  course,  of  course  !  "  He  began  to  apprehend 
how  time  had  been  annihilated  for  him.  "  Of  course  it's 
Sunday  !  What  was  I  talking  about  ?  And  you  say 
it's  in  a  few  hours  then  ?  " 

"  The  man  from  the  burial  society  has  just  been  in. 
He  says  the  cabs'll  come  about  two,  he  thinks  ;  some- 
body said  that  funerals  are  the  only  things  that  Jews 
are  in  time  about.  Oh,  Philip,  Phihp,  they'll  not  be 
late ;  what  does  it  matter  when  they  come  ?  " 

"  Oh,  so  there'll  be  cabs  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there'll  be  cabs  !  " 


APHRODITE  259 

"  And  there'll  be — you  know — a  hearse  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  keep  on  asking  these  questions  for  ? 
Of  course  there  must  be  !  " 

"  What's  all  those  heavy  noises  for,  in  the  parlour  ? 
What  is  it  they're  moving  about  ?  " 

"  Don't,  Philip,  don't !   Come  back  into  the  kitchen  !  '* 

"  It's  the  coffin  !    Isn't  it  the  coffin  ?  " 

The  parlour  door  was  flung  open  suddenly.  With 
her  hair  escaped  from  the  pins,  her  hands  beating  wildly, 
there  stood  Dorah,  crying  shrilly,  with  broken  catches  ! 
"  Come  here,  Channah,  Philip  !  Come,  look  at  her  for 
the  last  time  !    Quick,  quick,  it'll  be  too  late  !  " 

Channah  clung  back  against  him. 

"  We  must  go  !  "  Philip  whispered.  "  Poor  old  girl, 
let's  go  !  " 

All  but  her  face  was  covered  where  she  lay,  the  lid 
revealing  the  calm  head.  The  room  was  full  of  un- 
checked sobbing.  Grief  was  round  her  like  a  whirlpool. 
How  calm  she  lay  at  its  centre,  unperturbed,  serene  I 
A  woman  was  tearing  her  hair,  Dorah  beating  her 
breast  savagely  !  Reb  Monash  stood  heaped  against  a 
corner,  his  head  drooped  upon  his  breast.  Channah, 
her  shoulders  convulsively  shaking,  lay  clasped  in  a 
woman's  arms.  Philip  looked  tearless  upon  his  mother's 
tearless  face.  She  knew  how  to  take  Death  quietly, 
like  a  queen  !  The  tinge  of  yellow  had  gone  from  her 
cheeks.  They  were  only  white  now,  placidly  white. 
Never  before  had  her  face  been  so  wise  and  sweet. 
Oh,  the  queenly  lady  .  .  .  mother  as  never  before ! 

"  Go  out  now,  you  must  go  out !  "  a  voice  said. 

"  Never,  never  !  You'll  never  take  her  away  !  " 
Dorah  shrieked,  but  the  woman  led  Dorah  out,  and 
Channah  after  her.  For  one  moment  Reb  Monash  and 
Philip  remained  in  the  room,  the  body  between  them. 
Then  they  too  went. 


260  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

Little  trickles  faltered  down  the  kitchen  windows, 
dulling  the  light  already  so  meagre.  Philip  looked  out 
into  the  yard  and  saw  a  slow  drizzle  falling  miserably. 
The  ground  would  be  sodden,  out  there.  He  shivered. 
A  chill  rain  faltered  within  him  as  he  turned  away,  a 
drizzle  soaking  his  heart  till  it  was  sodden  like  the 
cemetery  out  along  the  paved  roads,  somewhere  at  a 
corner  of  Doomington.  As  he  sat  motionless,  a  man 
approached  him  and  asked  him  to  unfasten  his  coat. 
With  leaden  fingers  he  obeyed.  The  man  seized  his 
waistcoat  a  little  distance  above  the  first  button-hole  and 
held  it  taut  with  the  left  thumb  and  first  finger.  A  razor 
in  the  right  hand  made  a  two-inch  incision.  The  canvas 
threads  sprawled  from  the  gap  like  exposed  nerves. 

When  the  first  cab  came  crunching  along  Angel  Street, 
he  observed  with  abstract  interest  how  the  wheels,  though 
superficially  they  seemed  to  be  arrested  outside  the  front 
door,  still  went  heavily  revolving  towards  his  ribs  and 
crunched  them  below  their  passing,  till  he  could  hardly 
breathe  for  the  sharp  bits  of  bone  sticking  in  his  chest. 
Other  vehicles  followed.  Two  cabs  had  been  subscribed 
for  and  sent  hj  the  Polisher  Shool  to  express  the  sympathy 
and  respect  of  the  congregation.  One  or  two  other 
synagogues  which  had  witnessed  Reb  Monash's  oratori- 
cal triumphs  faid  a  like  tribute,  and  there  was,  of 
course,  a  quotum  provided  by  the  burial  society  out 
of  the  Sunday  fund  to  which  Reb  Monash  had  contri- 
buted from  the  first  week  of  his  arrival  in  Doomington, 
as  knowing  that  though  his  family's  living  might  be  a 
doubtful  affair,  of  death's  coming,  soon  or  late,  there 
could  be  no  doubt. 

Some  one  told  him  that  his  father,  the  parnass  and 
the  gabhoim  of  the  Polisher  Shool  were  already  installed 
in  the  leading  cab.  They  were  waiting  for  him.  A 
lethargy  had  been  creeping  about  his  brain.    "  Wasn't 


APHRODITE  261 

there  any  way  of  getting  out  oEit  ?  Why  must  he  go  ? 
Why  must  any  one  go  ?  Wasn't  it  finished,  finished 
beyond  recall  ?  " 

Dorah  sat  on  the  sofa  swaying  regularly  from  side 
to  side.  He  heard  the  crying  of  Channah,  hidden 
somewhere. 

"  Go  thou,  go  !  "   moaned  Dorah. 

He  staggered  through  the  front  door.  A  swift  wave 
of  sympathy  from  the  red-eyed  crowd  in  the  street 
surged  towards  him.  A  horrible  self -consciousness 
afflicted  him  and  he  wilted  like  a  leaf  before  a  flame. 

"  What  a  lovely  funeral !  "  he  heard  somebody 
mutter.  .  .  . 

He  heard  the  clinking  of  coins  in  a  tin  box.  He 
remembered.  There  was  no  wedding,  no  funeral  where 
the  shammos  was  not  to  be  seen,  clinking  his  box  for  the 
poor. 

But  the  clinking  faded  from  his  ears  when  he  dis- 
covered with  a  swift  stare  of  recognition  the  tin  can  at 
the  pavement's  edge.  "  Orummer  ingel .'  "  a  woman 
cried,  lifting  her  voice,  "  Poor  lad  !  "  The  words  grated. 
He  was  glad  to  find  himself  in  the  dark  shelter  of  the 
cab,  crushed  in  among  the  men. 

As  the  procession  moved  away,  he  knew  that  Dorah 
stood  on  the  steps  of  the  house,  beating  her  hands 
together,  shouting  ;  that  Channah  seemed  to  run  after 
them  like  a  ghost ;  she  tottered,  and  the  capable  arms 
of  women  had  seized  her,  were  bearing  her  away.  The 
hearse  turned  the  corner  of  Angel  Street.  The  cabs 
followed. 

Still  a  passionless  stupor  held  him  as  they  moved 
along  Doomington  Road  and  up  Blenheim  Road, 
through  Longton,  beyond  the  outskirts  of  the  Jewish 
quarter,  and  to  Wheatley  at  last,  where  the  Jewish 
cemetery  straggled  over  the  low  slope  of  a  hill  and  the 


262  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

tombstones  bore  meekly  the  inquisitions  of  the  passing 
trams. 

The  entrance  into  the  cemetery  was  a  wooden, 
draughty  shed  where  a  few  Prayer  Books  were  lying 
about  on  the  forms.  The  shed  was  rapidly  filling. 
In  addition  to  those  whom  the  cabs  had  brought  were 
a  number  who  had  travelled  by  tram.  Soon  he  found  a 
service  beginning  and  himself  mechanically  joining  in 
prayers.  And  shortly  after  he  was  moving  out  into  the 
open  with  the  rest,  into  the  damp  air.  They  were 
moving  along  the  uphill  winding  path  to  the  cemetery. 
The  clay  underfoot  was  difficult  for  treading.  The 
atmosphere  was  full  of  the  smell  of  turned  earth.  After 
one  or  two  minutes  the  untidy  procession  paused  and 
the  chazan  who  was  officiating  at  the  funeral  continued 
the  waihng  chant.  Again  they  moved  forward  and 
again  they  stopped ;  the  chant  was  resumed,  until  at 
last  they  were  among  the  graves.  There  were  uprooted 
weeds,  removed  by  the  caretaker  from  privileged  graves, 
lying  in  dank  heaps,  tainting  the  tainted  air  and  tan- 
gling the  narrow  walks  among  the  dead. 

This  was  the  place  then,  this  black,  deep  hole  ?  The 
rain  was  drizzhng  into  the  grave.  If  they  waited  too 
long,  there  would  be  a  floor  of  clayey  water.  It  was  a 
deep  hole ;  who  had  thought  that  graves  were  so  deep  ? 
It  was  true  that  no  disturbance  from  the  harsh  world 
above  would  penetrate  so  far  ;  but  if  the  grave  were  a 
little  less  deep,  there  would  be  communion  with  the  roots 
of  flowers,  almost  the  tiny  pattering  of  birds'  feet. 

So  he  mused,  hardly  conscious  of  the  solemn  chanting 
and  the  sobbing  about  his  ears,  until  some  one  whispered 
that  he  must  throw  a  clod  of  earth  into  the  grave^  on  to 
the  coffin  lid. 

Even  this,  then'?  No  release,  no  hope  !  A  lump  of 
earth  fell  dully  from  his  father's  hand.    Light  would 


APHRODITE  263 

the  earth  be  which  her  son  threw  on  his  mother's  bed  ! 
He  lifted  a  fragment  of  clay  and  released  it  over  the  grave. 
But  heavily  the  sound  came,  boomed  on  his  ears.  Others 
followed.  He  became  aware  of  a  new  refrain  in  the 
threnody  round  him.  "  Beg  for  me,  Chayah  !  "  "  Beg 
for  me,  beg  the  Above  One  !  "  they  were  shouting  into 
the  grave  as  the  coffin  disappeared  below  the  rising 
earth.    "  Beg  for  me,  Chayah  !  " 

He  turned  away.  No  more  sound  was  heard  of 
clay  on  naked  wood.  Terribly,  silently,  the  level 
rose.  The  caretaker  had  seized  the  shovel  and  was 
piling  more  earth  on  the  broken  surface.  Behind 
a  tall  white  stone  with  black  pillars  a  little  distance 
away,  hidden  from  the  rest,  Philip  lay  for  some  time, 
his  face  on  the  damp  gravel,  at  last  realizing  how  far 
from  all  reach  they  had  placed  her,  beyond  all  language, 
all  vision,  at  the  roots  of  darkness,  far  from  his  twitching 
fingers.  It  was  time  for  the  mourners  to  descend  to 
the  shed  for  minchah.    The  chazan  was  getting  restive. 

But  a  few  lingered  among  the  stones,  coming  to  read 
again  the  inscriptions  over  the  graves  of  parents,  children, 
friends,  all  equally  dead  in  the  Wheatley  cemetery,  all 
under  the  drizzle  in  uncomplaining  company,  all 
stretched  quiet  under  the  levelled  clods,  which  other 
sons,  fathers,  friends  had  heaped  on  the  coffin  lids. 

When  the  crowd  had  descended,  he  found  Reb  Monash 
sitting  alone  on  a  form  against  the  wall.  The  shammos 
whispered  to  Philip  that  he  must  be  seated  alongside 
his  father.  Head  swimming,  he  obeyed.  And  now 
came  minchahy  the  afternoon  service.  Eeb  Monash 
turned  up  in  a  Prayer  Book  the  Jcaddish,  the  special 
prayer  of  the  bereaved.  The  isolation  of  their  two 
voices  frightened  him,  but  he  was  conscious  of  a  tense 
determination  that  no  hitch  should  take  place  in  this 
concluding   ceremony,   that   she   should   be   left,   the 


264  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

tired  woman,  at  rest  as  soon  as  they  would  release  her. 
He  uttered  the  prayer  with  dead  clarity. 

Minchah  was  over.  In  dull  wonder  he  realized  that 
the  shamynos  had  unfastened  his  father's  shoe  laces  and 
was  unfastening  his  own.  Reb  Monash  rose  weakly  and 
walked  across  the  room  and  Philip  followed.  The 
crowd  desultorily  made  way  for  them  as  they  moved, 
their  loose  laces  dragging  in  the  dust.  As  they  were 
fumbling  once  more  with  the  tying  of  their  laces,  the 
black  figures  were  flickering  through  the  door  into  the 
road. 

Who  of  the  living  shall  stay  in  the  place  of  the  dead  ? 
Let  the  dead  hold  such  converse  together  as  they  can  ! 
Day  speeds  to  night  and  night  will  bring  new  day.  An 
emptier  day  for  empty  eyes  in  this  place  and  in  that, 
but  a  new  day  none  the  less.  Will  not  fresh  waters  be 
flowing  from  the  mountain  sources,  and  other  waves 
hurtle  against  the  shores  ?  It  is  only  the  caretaker's 
dog  who  prowls  unhappily  among  the  graves,  wondering 
dimly  at  all  this  to-do.  The  caretaker  himself  wipes 
the  clay  from  his  weeding  fork  and  sets  to  work  again, 
whistling. 

There  was  a  self-satisfaction  in  the  clatter  of  the 
horses'  hoofs  as  the  cabs  made  their  way  from  the 
cemetery,  an  indication  that  having  achieved  their 
part  of  the  day's  burden  satisfactorily,  it  was  left  to 
the  humans  they  were  carrying  away  to  dismiss  them  as 
soon  as  decorum  permitted.  The  drizzle  persisted  still. 
The  tram-lines  glistened  evilly  mottled  among  the  bricks. 
With  fitful  abstraction  Philip  looked  through  the  window 
into  the  drab  day.  The  continuity  of  houses  had  not 
yet  begun.  Here  and  there  stood  a  pubHc  house  at 
a  comer,  or  two  or  three  houses  thrown  up  in  apologetic 
haste.  The  cabs  overtook  a  man  and  a  woman  walking 
citywards  in  the  same  direction  ;    it  seemed  that  when 


APHRODITE  265 

the  hearse  came  abreast  of  the  man,  a  natural  impulse 
made  him  remove  his  hat.  The  man  stood  gaping  as  the 
first  cab  approached,  the  woman  staring  curiously. 
Then  suddenly  she  seized  him  by  the  shoulder  and 
pointed  a  correcting  finger  towards  the  procession. 
She  shouted  something  into  his  ears — the  actual  words 
were  drowned  in  the  rattle  of  wheels.  The  man  gaped 
more  foolishly,  and  at  once,  deliberately,  replaced  his 
hat.  As  the  man  and  woman  passed  from  Philip's 
sight,  they  were  grinning  significantly  into  each  other's 
faces.  The  lad  wondered  what  it  meant.  Quickly  he 
was  informed.  The  procession  was  now  riding  abreast 
of  a  piece  of  waste  ground,  sloping  greasily  up  from  the 
roadside  level.  Against  the  sky-line,  faintly  muffled 
by  the  intervening  rain,  Philip  saw  three  or  four  youths 
standing,  long-legged.  He  perceived  that  as  soon  as 
they  became  conscious  of  the  funeral  procession  their 
lank  immobility  had  stiffened,  and  that  at  once  they 
proceeded  to  make  derisive  gestures  with  their  arms 
and  hands.  When  at  last  he  realized  the  significance  of 
their  gestures  he  felt  as  though  each  had  plunged  a  rusty 
knife  into  him.  It  was  the  movement  he  remembered 
on  the  part  of  a  band  of  youths  who  two  or  three  years 
ago  had  assembled  outside  the  Polisher  Shool  to  mock 
the  old  Jews  entering  on  their  Yom  Kippur  supplications. 
It  was  the  movement  which  had  sometimes  greeted  him 
in  the  meaner  Gentile  parts  of  Doomington,  to  an 
accompaniment  of  "  smoggy  van  Jew  !  "  Once  Higson 
Junior  had  stood  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  .  .  . 

The  rain  was  not  too  opaque  to  obscure  their  lips 
shaping,  nor  so  dense  that  he  could  not  hear  the  scorn- 
ful implacable  words — "  Smogs  !  Look  at  the  smoggy 
van  Jews  !  " 

"  God  !  "  he  shouted,  suddenly  starting  to  his  feet. 
The  others  calmed  him,  bade  him  sit  down  ;  to  them  it 


266  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

seemed  a  spasmodic  outburst  of  his  grief.  They  had 
not  noticed  the  gesticulating  youths  on  the  clay  slope. 
Or  perhaps  the  youths  had  not  escaped  their  notice, 
but  having  passed  this  way  before,  the  edge  of  the 
experience  had  been  blunted  for  them  by  familiarity. 

Philip  as  suddenly  subsided,  but  the  blood  surged 
through  him,  wave  after  wave,  in  fierce  anger.  This, 
then,  was  the  gentleness  of  Christ !  These  the  country- 
men of  Shelley !  For  these  Sociahsm  schemed  and 
poured  its  hot  blood  !  Oh,  God  !  The  skunks  !  What 
would  it  matter  if  himself  they  stripped  and  threw 
stones  at  him,  sent  him  bleeding  home  ?  Or  if  they 
filled  with  mud  the  mouths  and  nostrils  of  these  old  men 
about  him  ?  But  they  had  desecrated  Death  itself, 
the  dolorous  quiet  majesty  of  Death !  They  had 
desecrated  Aer,  the  sleeping  woman  with  the  folded 
hands,  the  lips  that  should  utter  no  more  her  sweet 
calm  words,  her  eyes,  sealed  under  disks  of  clay,  that 
had  been  innocent  as  dawn  ! 

He  squirmed  in  his  corner  of  the  cab.  TJiey  had 
desecrated  her  sleep,  these  minions  of  Christ !  It 
seemed  at  that  moment  that  no  life  henceforward  lay 
before  him  excepting  the  shattering  from  His  throne  of 
the  thorn-crowned  Hypocrite,  in  whose  service  those 
long-legged  blackguards  jeered  at  Death.  This  mood 
passed  quickly.  A  memory  came  to  him  of  a  picture 
he  had  seen  somewhere,  the  eyes  of  Christ  lifted  in 
anguish,  the  heavy  blood  thickening  about  the  wounds. 
But  he  felt  that  a  bitter  brew  had  been  forced  down  his 
throat.  A  taste  of  crude  salt  lay  in  the  hollow  of  his 
tongue. 

The  cab  arrived  at  Angel  Street.  Dorah  and  Channah 
sat  waiting  in  the  kitchen  on  low  stools,  and  low  stools 
(on  which  alone  the  bereaved  of  a  Jewish  family  may 
sit  during  the  shiveh,  the  seven  days'  mourning)  were 


APHRODITE  267 

set  for  Reb  Monash  and  Philip.  The  neighbours  had 
prepared  some  food,  but  Philip  could  not  eat.  Each 
mouthful  became  impregnated  with  the  evil  liquid 
flowing  round  his  tongue.  He  was  conscious  of  nothing 
but  intense  irritation  and  dared  not  trust  himself  to 
utter  a  word.  He  winced  when  a  door  opened,  squeak- 
ing, and  brutally  he  kicked  the  cat  as  it  meowed  into 
his  face.  When  Channah  put  her  hand  on  his  forehead, 
he  threw  it  ofi  with  a  suppressed  scream.  He  was 
annoyed  that  the  women  let  the  food  lie  about  so  long, 
and  when  they  removed  it,  he  was  annoyed  that  they 
removed  it  so  clumsily.  A  ring  of  hot  metal  seemed  to 
lie  behind  each  eye.  He  shut  his  eyes,  but  only  set 
the  rings  rolling  on  |  their  axes  and  throwing  off 
sparks. 

A  sing-song  monologue  was  drumming  into  his  ears. 
One  or  two  of  Reb  Monash's  friends  had  come  in  and 
his  father  was  narrating  the  virtues  of  the  dead  woman. 

"  0^,  such  a  wife  !  "  he  was  moaning,  "  A  Yiddish 
soul  and  good  as  gold  !  Nothing  which  it  is  right  for 
a  Yiddish  woman  to  do,  she  did  not  do  !  No  mitzvah  was 
too  hard  for  her  !  And  on  Friday  night  what  a  table  it 
was  !  Not  a  speck  on  the  tablecloth  and  the  candles 
shining  like  the  heavens  !  Oi,  my  buried  Chayah  ! 
Where  shall  I  find  me  such  another  one  ?  Where, 
where  ?    And  on  yom  tovvim.  .  .  .  !  " 

The  teeth  of  Philip's  bitterness  fastened  close  on  this 
harangue.  This  was  the  first  moment  since  his  return 
from  Wenton  that  he  had  become  conscious  of  Reb 
Monash  as  a  separate  and  complete  entity.  He  had  been 
irrelevant  hitherto.  Only  hi?  mother,  living  or  dead, 
had  occupied  the  full  circle  of  his  vision.  There  had  been 
room  for  no  one,  nothing  but  her.  The  incident  on  the 
return  from^tho  cemetery  had  made  a  hole  in  the  walls 
of  his  isolation,  an  acid  had  come  trickling  into  him, 


268  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

corroding  him.  What  did  the  old  man  mean  by  this 
futility  ?  What  interest  was  aU  this  to  the  nodding  old 
fools  on  the  sofa  ?  Indeed,  what  interest  were  her 
virtues  to  the  man  himself,  eulogizing  her  from  the  low 
stool,  in  the  same  chant  he  had  heard  often  in  the 
bygone  years,  rising  fitfully  from  the  room  where  the 
living  woman  lay  sleepless  and  frightened  in  her  bed  ? 

"  And  what  think  you  she  would  do  ?  She  would 
borrow  money  on  her  bracelets  to  lend  to  Yashka,  the 
fisher's  wife  !  And  when  a  woman  gave  birth  she  would 
forget  she  was  iU  herself  :  she'd  go  out  through  the  rain 
to  make  her  some  dainty  and  clean  her  floor  !  What  a 
house  she  kept  for  me.  .  .  .  !  " 

It  was  intolerable  !  Would  he  never  finish  ?  Whither 
was  he  leading  ?  Faster  and  faster  revolved  the  wheels 
behind  his  eyes.  He  dug  his  nails  into  his  hands  and 
the  voice  proceeded  evenly.  He  had  stopped.  No,  it 
was  to  draw  breath  !  He  was  proceeding  again.  This 
man  his  father  ?  Oh,  a  stranger  surely !  They  had 
lost  S5nnpathy  enough,  God  knows,  these  years.  But 
the  man  incanting  now  so  monotonously,  who  was  he, 
what  was  he  doing  here  ? 

Phihp  found  his  own  lips  in  motion.  Reb  Monash  was 
silent  and  turned  his  head  towards  his  son. 

"  You've  found  it  all  out  now,  have  you  ?  "  he  said. 
The  voice  was  raw  and  dry,  a  voice  he  had  never  uttered 
nor  heard  before.  Was  it  himself  had  asked  that 
question,  and  himself  who  asked  again  with  words  that 
stabbed  the  tranced  silence  in  which  the  room  la] 
frozen — 

"  So  you've  found  it  out  now  that  you've  killed  her  ? 

A  bUght  seemed  to  fall  on  the  lips  of  Reb  Monasl 
They  turned  sick  and  grey.  The^colour^spread  aloi 
his  cheeks.  His  eyes  grew  wider  and  dark  and  vei 
sorrowful.    Neither  he  nor  his  son  seemed  aware  tha^ 


APHRODITE  269 

Dorah  had  advanced  to  the  boy,  her  teeth  showing 
large  between  her  hps,  that  she  hfted  her  hand  to  strike 
him,  but  the  hand  had  failed  suddenly,  and  she  had 
sunk  on  a  stool,  sobbing.  The  eyes  of  Reb  Monash  still 
rested  full  on  his  son's,  but  his  chin  drooped  lower  on  his 
breast.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice  echoed  the  raw  dry 
tones  that  had  left  Phihp's  mouth. 

"  God  knows,  Feivele  !  "  he  said.  "  Perhaps  thou 
hast  right !  " 

His  head  shook  unsteadily  for  some  moments,  then 
fell  forward  and  downward  like  a  lead  weight. 

"  He's  fainted  !  "   shrieked  Dorah. 

"  He's  fainted !  "  Channah  echoed.  Dorah  turned 
fiercely  on  Philip.    Her  fingers  clawed  the  air. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  "  Philip  said.  "  What  was  I 
saying  ?  " 

They  flung  the  door  open.  Some  one  fumbled  at  the 
window  frantically  for  a  minute  or  two,  then  reahzed 
that  the  window  could  not  open.  With  quick  sobs  of 
alarm  Channah  threw  water  into  Reb  Monash's  face, 
while  Dorah  held  his  head  to  the  air. 

Reb  Monash  opened  his  eyes.  "  Where's  Feivele  1 " 
he  asked  faintly. 

"  Here  !  "   the  boy  whispered. 

"  Feivele !  "  said  his  father.  "  Feivele,  let  it  be  over ! 
It  has  lasted  too  long  !  " 

"  Father,  what  meanest  thou  ?  I  knew  not  what  I 
was  saying.  ..." 

"  No,  that  is  finished ;  it  is  said  !  The  fighting,  let 
it  be  over !  Go  thine  own  way  1  If  thou  wilt  come 
mine,  some  day  far  off,  God  be  praised !  But  the 
fighting,  let  it  be  over  !    I  am  tired  !  " 

The  boy  stared  into  his  father's  face.  Memory  after 
memory  floated  like  vapours  darkly  over  the  seas  of 
the  past,  interposed  themselves  between  that  sallow 


2T0  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

face  and  his  eyes.  Then  he  saw  the  eyelids  fail  wearily. 
The  memories  drew  away  along  the  wide  levels. 

He  knew  what  issue  had  been  declared.  They  had 
suffered  much  and  waited  long,  his  father  and  he. 
To  Death  had  fallen  the  decision  of  their  conflict. 

"  Father,  let  it  be  over  !  " 

The  tension  was  only  broken  that  night.  Harry 
Sewelson  came  in  and  after  a  speechless,  eloquent  hand- 
shake, informed  PhiUp  that  he  had  been  away  all  yes- 
terday and  had  learned  of  the  death  only  a  couple  of 
hours  ago.  He  had  heard  women  discussing  it  over 
the  counter  in  his  father's  shop.  Alec  and  his  family 
had  left  the  town  unexpectedly  a  few  days  ago  or  Alec 
would  have  come  in  too.  .  .  . 

People  kept  on  crowding  into  the  kitchen  till  the  room 
was  unbearably  stuffy.  Harry  had  relapsed  into 
reverent  silence  in  a  corner.  Philip  was  certain  he  would 
choke  unless  he  went  to  the  front  door  to  breathe.  He 
passed  along  the  lobby  and  opened  the  door.  At  that 
moment  old  Serra  Golda,  who  had  just  climbed  the  stairs, 
was  about  to  knock,  and  even  as  her  hand  rose  to  the 
knocker,  the  door  swung  noiselessly  inward.  Her 
little  puckered  eighty-year-old  face,  caught  faintly  by 
the  gleam  of  a  street  lamp,  was  distraught  with  fright. 
She  uttered  a  sUght  screech  of  horror.  Her  beady 
eyes  stared  from  her  head  in  a  manner  intolerably 
ridiculous.  A  demon  of  laughter  seized  PhiHp  over- 
whelmingly and  a  great  raucous  peal  bellowed  from 
his  lips.  He  swayed  impotently,  hands  waving  in  the 
air,  each  mouthful  of  laughter  louder  and  more  hideous 
than  the  last.  The  old  lady  bustled  by  him,  muttering 
indignantly,  "  Thou  loafer  !  such  a  year  upon  thee  !  " 

The  words  only  emphasized  the  insanity  of  his  mirth. 
He  managed  to  close  the  door  and  then  stood  in  the 


APHRODITE  271 

darkness  of  the  lobby,  beating  his  head  on  the  wall  in 
his  transports.  He  felt  his  ribs  cracking  in  the  onslaught 
of  laughter,  and  clasped  his  hands  tight  round  his 
body. 

He  found  Harry  standing  beside  him. 

"  Good  God  !  Phihp  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  It  isn't 
seemly  !    How  can  you  do  it !  " 

For  long  PhiUp  could  shape  no  word.  The  tears 
streamed  from  his  eyes.  At  last,  with  infinite  diffi- 
culty, he  brought  out : 

"  Oh,  hell,  Harry,  don't  you  understand  ?  Don't  you 
see  .  .  .  see  how  I'm  ..." 

But  the  words  were  drowned  in  a  fresh  and  prolonged 
peal.   Harry  walked  away  from  him  impatiently. 

It  was  fortunate  that  meyeriv,  the  evening  service, 
had  been  rendered  and  the  kaddish  intoned.  Philip  now 
reaUzed  clearly  that  the  laughter  was  entirely  out  of 
his  control  and  that  it  would  be  fatal  to  re-enter  the 
kitchen.  Although  the  main  attack  had  subsided, 
bubbles  of  laughter  still  boiled  in  his  throat  and  issued 
from  his  Hps  in  ragged  shrieks.  Utterly  prostrated,  he 
determined  that  the  only  thing  he  could  do  was  to  go 
to  bed  at  once,  and  he  fell  asleep  with  his  own  laughter 
ringing  lamentably  in  his  ears. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THREE  times  daily  for  the  following  seven  days,  a 
little  community,  necessarily  never  less  than 
ten  adults,  and  frequently  intersprinkled  with  a  few  of 
those  more  pious  chayder  boys  who  wished  specially  to 
commend  themselves  to  their  rebhie,  gathered  for 
davenning  in  the  Angel  Street  kitchen  ;  the  visitors  on 
sofa  and  chairs,  Reb  Monash  and  Philip  on  low  stools  ; 
the  mourners  uttering  their  Jcaddish,  the  visitors  chiming 
amen  with  devout  promptitude. 

Davenning,  perhaps  by  some  deliberate  charitable 
intention,  seemed  to  take  up  most  of  the  day,  and 
effectively  chequered  Philip's  moods  of  stagnant 
melancholy  with  the  need  for  definite  action  and  a 
brave  show  in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  Benjamin,  Dorah's 
husband,  a  meek,  pale-haired  man,  whose  will  had 
always  been  a  useful  and  docile  implement  in  the  hands 
of  his  wife,  attended  the  minyon  with  complete  regularity, 
a  praiseworthy  fact  in  virtue  of  the  commercial  travel- 
ling which  took  him  into  far  outlying  villages.  Dorah 
herself  returned  to  Longton,  leaving  Philip  in  Angel 
Street  for  the  period  of  the  shiveh. 

After  the  first  week  the  family  was  permitted  to  re- 
sume ordinary  chairs,  but  for  a  whole  month  the  unshaved 
cheeks  of  Philip  Massel  testified  bibhcally  to  his  loss. 
Yet  kaddish  was  not  at  end.  Three  times  a  day  for  the 
ensuing  eleven  months  the  prayer  was  to  be  uttered  in 
one  synagogue  or  another.   And  year  after  year  there- 

272 


APHRODITE  278 

after  candles  were  to  be  lit  on  the  eve  of  the  anni- 
versary of  the  death  and  kaddish  three  times  uttered 
next  day. 

For  the  Jewish  mind  the  prayer  is  invested  with 
extreme  sanctity.  The  birth  of  a  son  conveys  to  his 
father  and  mother  immediately  the  glad  tidings  of 
"  Thank  God !  a  kaddish  for  our  souls  !  "  In  a  pre- 
cisely similar  manner  to  the  purchase  of  a  mass  and  for 
precisely  similar  reasons,  a  kaddish,  by  a  childless  man 
and  woman,  will  be  bought  for  money.  There  are, 
indeed,  old  men  who  shuffle  about  the  dark  spaces  of  a 
synagogue,  whose  main  liveHhood  is  the  recital,  at  a 
stated  rate,  of  the  prayer.  But,  it  is  needless  to  insist, 
the  commercial  commodity  is  held  to  possess  by  no 
means  the  same  efficacy  as  the  consanguineous  kaddish. 
Dereliction  of  duty  in  this  matter  is  held  to  be  a  flagrant 
betrayal  of  the  dead.  The  image  is  held  before  the  cul- 
prit's eye  of  the  body  attempting  to  shake  free  from 
its  bondage  of  worms  and  mud,  and  for  lack  of  interces- 
sion before  the  throne  of  God,  enchained  cruelly  within 
the  narrow  territory  of  the  coffin. 

The  state  in  which  Phihp  had  endured  the  climax  of 
his  mother's  illness,  her  death  and  funeral,  had  involved, 
it  has  been  evident,  less  a  storm  of  suffering  than  a 
trance,  a  deadly  level  of  hysteria.  When  he  returned 
from  Angel  Street  to  Longton,  he  seemed  to  lose  his 
faculty  for  quick  reaction,  for  poignant  contrition  or 
grief.  His  mind  reduplicated  the  sooty  autumn  which 
spread  like  a  web  about  the  city,  entrapping  the  last 
evidences  of  summer  and  leaving  them  to  hang  be- 
draggled like  sucked  flies. 

Whether  or  no,  for  one  who  had  at  least  made  such 
pretensions  of  affection  towards  his  dead  mother, 
he  ought,  from  the  point  of  view  of  an  abstract  decency, 
to  have  persisted  with  the  prayer  to  which  she  herself 


274  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

had  attached  suchamportance,  it  is  not  easy  to  decide. 
It  is  possible  that  had  he  recited  the  kaddish  in  a  lan- 
guage he  understood,  he  would  have  persisted  even  to 
the  end.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  possible  that  had  he 
been  faced  with  the  task  of  reiterating  for  so  long  the 
same  fixed  number  and  sequence  of  words  with  their 
inelastic  content  of  meaning,  he  would  have  defected 
even  sooner  :  that,  in  fact,  the  mere  unintelligibility 
of  the  prayer  conferred  upon  it  for  a  season  the  quality 
of  the  kabbalistic.  But  the  essential  fact  is  this,  that 
the  emotional  part  of  him  now  flowed  hke  a  sluggish 
backwater,  and  in  his  emotion  alone  the  ritual  could 
have  been  steeped  imtil  it  shone  with  beauty  and 
urgency. 

Only  his  mind  moved  with  any  clarity,  and  his  mind 
had  long  ago  decided  that  phylacteries  belonged  to 
Babylon,  that  all  the  terror  of  the  Day  of  Atonement 
was  an  immense,  an  almost  conquering  hypnotism, 
from  which  with  travail  he  had  escaped.  Kaddish  was 
but  an  issue  of  the  same  quality  as  these,  though  more 
painful  in  its  solution ;  for  those  others  were  related 
merely  to  the  general  problem  presented  to  him  by  his 
race,  whilst  this  was  bound  up  so  immediately  with  the 
lovely  thing  he  had  lost. 

His  first  absence  from  the  morning  service  at  the  httle 
shool  in  Longton  (his  absences  from  the  afternoon  and 
evening  services  were  not  ostentatious  and  were  there- 
fore not  commented  on)  produced  a  series  of  violent 
outbursts  from  Dorah,  culminating  in  a  threat  that  she 
would  no  longer  allow  him  to  pass  her  doors.  When 
he  informed  her  that  he  had  had  other  struggles  to 
determine  and  others  still  faced  him,  that  he  was  too 
tired  arguing  the  matter  of  kaddish  with  himself  for  any 
argument  with  her,  that,  in  short,  he  would  go,  as  she 
threatened,  and  become  an  errand  boy  or  a  clerk,  her 


APHRODITE  275 

anger  relaxed.  It  was  certain  lie  was  very  worn  out, 
and  if  he  actually  left  the  bosom  of  his  family,  his 
last  tie  with  Judaism  would  be  snapped,  and — who 
knew  ?  he  might,  God  forbid,  even  marry  a  Gentile,  a 
goyah !  What  a  scandal  it  would  be !  Benjamin 
would  lose  his  Jewish  clientele,  it  would  shake  Reb 
Monash's  chayder  to  its  foundations,  and  what  would  be 
thought  of  a  maggid  whose  son  .  .  .  No,  the  matter 
was  too  terrible  to  think  of !  They  must  be  patient, 
perhaps  God  would  be  kind  even  yet !  Yet  it  was  hard, 
very  hard  to  bear  !  Not  for  all  her  resolutions  could  she 
stifle  periodic  outbursts  of  wrath.  Philip  would  rise 
from  the  table  with  shut  lips  and  retire  to  his  room  and 
his  books. 

Poetry  had  begun  to  lose  its  savour  for  him.  Poetry 
tinkled.  He  discovered  a  volume  of  the  Poems  and 
Ballads.  It  mystified  and  annoyed  him.  He  was  in  no 
mood  for  the  sheer  unrelated  beauty  of  Keats,  and  Tenny- 
son  seemed  fit  only  to  read  on  a  bench  among  the 
tulip  beds  of  Longton  Park.  His  feet  held  him  too 
heavily  to  the  ground  to  allow,  with  Shelley,  any 
excursion  into  the  empyrean.  As  yet  it  was  an  atmos- 
phere too  rare  for  him  to  breathe  again  ;  there  was  too 
much  of  the  graveyard  damp  in  his  lungs.  The  equili- 
bristic  clap-trap  of  "  Ulalume "  and  "  The  Raven 
filled  him  at  first  with  indignation  and  then  with  mere 
mirth. 

The  routine  of  school  made  as  yet  hardly  any  break 
in  the  even  tenour  of  his  mind.  Mr.  Furness  uttered 
a  few  words  of  sympathy,  so  quiet  and  unobtrusive  that 
without  scraping  the  wound  they  gave  to  Philip  a  sense 
of  ease  and  understanding  more  than  all  the  rhymed 
copisolations  of  the  poets.  With  Browning  he  had  more 
success,  and  though  the  robust  exuberance  of  the  poet 
was  out  of  harmony  with  PhiUp's  prevailing  mood,  here 


276  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

at  least  was  stufi  of  the  earth  earthy,  sound  stufi  for 
his  jaws  to  tackle  with  pertinacity.  But  the  discovery 
he  made  which  nearest  met  his  mood  was  the  discovery 
of  prose.  With  fiction,  of  course,  he  had  always  been 
familiar.  But  this  was  no  more  prose  in  a  strict 
sense  than  Pope  was  poetry.  Each  existed  for  a  pur- 
pose beyond  its  medium,  Dickens  for  his  tale  and  Pope 
for  his  precept.  But  when  he  casually  picked  up  at  a 
handcart  in  the  Swinford  market  a  copy  of  the  Religio 
Medicif  chiefly  for  a  melancholy  delight  in  its  mere 
odour  of  antique  must,  and  thus  casually  stumbled  on  a 
music  which  had  more  than  the  subtlety  of  verse,  and 
none  of  its  arbitrary  divisions,  he  was  carried  away 
upon  an  un travelled  sea.  The  "  Urn  Burial "  he 
chanted  night  after  night.  The  History  of  Claren- 
don and  the  Compleat  Angler  were  a  similar  ex- 
perience, the  mere  narrative  of  the  first  and  the  pisca- 
torial erudition  of  the  other  affecting  him  as  not  truly 
relevant  to  the  prose  in  which  they  were  written, 
being  merely  moulds  to  give  their  music  one  shape 
instead  of  another  shape.  He  moved  lazily  towards  the 
more  troubled  seas  of  Swift  and  was  suddenly  tossing 
helplessly  in  those  furious  waters  ;  until  release  allowed 
him  to  seek  amiable  harbourage  with  Dick  Steele  and, 
disregarding  lordlily  an  intervening  century,  in  the 
pleasant  coves  of  Lamb. 

It  was  not  that  the  agony  of  those  summer  days,  the 
telegram  at  Wenton,  the  cemetery,  the  words  he  had 
uttered  in  Angel  Street  and  their  consequence,  were 
submerged  quickly  or  in  the  least.  For  long,  periods 
of  Hstless  vacuity  clogged  PhiUp's  feet  and  mind. 
He  would  sit  musing  for  hours  over  an  unfinished  meal 
or  stand  in  prolonged  and  joyless  reverie  before  a  hard- 
ware shop.  The  slow  blood  in  his  veins  called  for  no 
action.    No  dream  of  sky  or  hills  was  potent  enough  to 


APHRODITE  277 

prick  his  limbs  with  desire  to  be  moving  beyond  the 
bounds  of  the  city  and  along  the  climbing  roads.  So  for 
a  time  these  voyages  with  the  learned  and  dead  doctors 
of  prose  were  the  only  adventures  of  his  soul. 

Almost  with  the  first  quickening  of  spring,  something 
of  the  old  unease  twitched  his  body.  He  realized  that 
his  friend  Alec,  from  whom  no  word  had  come  to  him, 
had  not  once  entered  his  mind  ;  that  even  Harry,  upon 
whom  he  had  stumbled  several  times,  had  in  no  wise 
concerned  him.  He  had  seen  him  once  or  twice  with  a 
lady.  Details  of  her  had  not  impressed  themselves  upon 
him.  He  knew  only  that  she  seemed  ten  or  twenty 
years  older  than  his  friend,  and  a  plain  woman  ;  dis- 
tinctly, a  plain  woman.  He  determined  to  call  for 
Harry  and  suggest  a  tram  ride  into  the  country. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  Harry  had  said  awkwardly.  "  I'm 
afraid  I  can't !  I'm  quite  fixed  up.  I  never  have  time 
to  go  with  any  one  else." 

"  1  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Philip  huffily,  "  really  I 
shouldn't  like  to  intrude  !  It  just  occurred  to  me  that 
we  used  to  have  something  to  do  with  one  another  not 
so  very  long  ago.  I  think  I'd  best  not  keep  you  any 
longer  now." 

*'  Philip,  try  and  be  a  sport,  if  you  can  !  "  Harry 
entreated.  *^'My  time's  not  my  own.  You're  not  old 
enough  yet,  so  you  can't  possibly  understand !  No 
offence  meant !  " 

"  What's  the  good  of  crowing  about — what's  your 
haughty  age — nearly  eighteen  ?  It's  a  privilege  bought 
by  mere  waiting  !  " 

"  Of  course  I  could  trust  you  to  misunderstand. 
The  fact  is  there's  every  chance  of  my  getting — for  God's 
sake  don't  tell  a  word  to  any  one — ",  he  dropped  his 
voice  and  looked  carefully  round,  "  of  my  getting 
married  !  " 


278  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  Good  God,  man,  you're  a  baby  !    Don't  be  a  fool !  " 

"  Ob,  don't  try  tbat  game  on  me !  I'm  old  enough 
for  marrying,  if  I'm  old  enough  to  be  a  father.  Don't 
look  so  startled  !  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  I  am.  That's 
the  trouble !  Yes,  it  was  a  pretty  sound  instinct  that 
prevented  me  from  going  round  to  see  you,  even  when 
they  kept  her  in  after  hours  !  I^ee  the  sort  of  sympathy 
I  could  have  expected  !  " 

"  But  who  on  earth  is  it  ?  " 

"  Didn't  we  see  you  somewhere  or  other  about  ten 
days  ago  when  we  were  together  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  that ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  Miss  Walpole  !  "  he  said  austerely. 
"  The  trouble  is  that  we  can't  really  decide  if  I  am  the 
father  actually  or  not !  "  he  went  on  in  a  sudden  burst 
of  confidence.  "  But  the  baby's  due  before  long  and 
there's  only  one  thing  left  for  a  decent  chap  to  do. 
That's  apart  entirely  from  the  fact  that  the  girl  means 
everything  to  me  now  !  "  he  said  with  assumed  airiness. 

"  Don't  be  so  bloody,  Harry !  "  PhiUp  burst  out. 
A  clearer  vision  of  the  lady  presented  itself  to  him  than 
when  she  passed  before  him  in  the  flesh.  "  She's  a 
hag  of  eighty  !  " 

The  face  of  the  infatuated  youth  turned  white  with 
wrath.  *'  I  think  the  sooner  you  take  your  filthy  face 
through  that  door  the  better !  You  and  your  blasted 
impertinence  !  " 

Dignity  demanded  a  frigid  and  immediate  withdrawal. 

"  I'll  be  damned  !  "  Philip  murmured,  "  a  chap  with 
a  mind  like  Harry's  !  Lord,  it  was  as  hard  as  a  knife  ! 
Poor  old  devil,  I  suppose  he'll  wake  up  in  a  month  and 
find  himself  up  to  the  neck!  Who's  left?  That's 
what  I  want  to  know !  All  the  old  landmarks  are 
washed  away.  What  the  hell  is  a  chap  to  do  ?  Who's 
left  ?  "    The  question  drummed  insistently  into  his  ears. 


APHRODITE  279 

He  found  himself  aching  for  friendship.  For  the  last 
few  months  he  had  hardly  uttered  a  word  excepting  a 
request  for  the  sugar,  perhaps,  and  a  reply  to  a  question 
at  school.  His  general  friendlessness  filled  him  with 
humiUation.  The  Walton  Street  phase  had  drawn  to 
its  dull  end  long  ago  and  not  a  figure  remained  who 
offered  the  least  hope  of  companionship.  Alec,  hke  the 
callous  swine  he  had  always  felt  Alec  fundamentally  to  be, 
had  merely  disappeared— bearing  with  him  the  telescope 
of  high  romance,  as  might  have  been  expected.  On 
Harry  the  gods  had  inflicted  a  terrible  cerebral  ajfflic- 
tion.  PhiUp  remembered  Harry's  attendant  lady  and 
shuddered.  And  Harry  had  been  sweet  on  Edie  once  ! 
Oh,  yes,  Edie  !  What  was  it  he  had  heard  Dorah  and 
Benjamin  saying  about  Edie  1  He  remembered. 
Her  photograph  had  been  seen  by  a  "  millionaire  "  in 
the  house  of  a  relative  of  Edie  in  Pittsburg,  U.S.A.  The 
"  millionaire,"  promptly  enamoured,  had  entered  into 
negotiations  with  the  authorities  in  Doomington,  the 
negotiations  were  succeeded  by  a  trunk  of  the  most 
astounding  dresses  and  a  first-class  ticket  to  Pittsburg. 
So  much  for  Edie  !  In  any  case  she  had  worn  thin 
ages  ago.  Then  it  was  that  Mamie  returned  to  his 
mind. 

His  first  thought  was  ''  Damn  that  girl !  I  thought 
I'd. forgotten  her !  "  She  filled  him  with  a  vivid  sense 
of  guilt.  "  I've  had  enough  !  "  he  vowed.  His  mind 
returned  to  the  episode  of  the  signature,  and  to  escape 
his  contrition,  he  fled  from  the  house  and  walked  swiftly 
down  Blenheim  Road.  To  his  horror  he  discovered  that 
every  step  he  took  was  actually  a  step  nearer  the  en- 
chantress. To  his  horror  he  was  forced  to  recognize 
that  the  thought  of  her  made  him  tingle  with  pleasure. 
The  recollection  of  her  began  to  torture  him.  It  was  a 
double  infliction,  sensations  of  guilt  and  promptings  of 


280  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

deiighfc  struggling  for  mastery.  When  his  mind  re- 
turned to  his  mother,  his  despair  was  more  abandoned 
than  it  had  been  since  the  summer.  Yet  ever  when  his 
gloom  was  most  profound,  the  girl  re-entered  his 
thoughts,  whistling  as  she  turned  the  corner  of  the  barn, 
brushing  his  cheeks  with  her  hair. 

"  By  God  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  lent  her  that  prose 
translation  of  Dante  !  "  (He  remembered  that  she  had 
asked  who  had  wrote  Dante,  and  that  she  had  thought 
it  so  delineate  of  him  to  lend  her  so  sweet  a  book.  And 
when  she'd  just  finished  the  Pansy  Bright-eye  Library 
she  was  reading,  she'd  love  to  learn  all  about  this  here 
Dante.    She  was  sure  he'd  be  that  interesting  !) 

Which  lack  of  culture  had  then  rather  accentuated 
than  diminished  her  charm,  a  quaint  sort  of  sophisticated 
naivete.  "  Of  course,  I've  got  to  get  my  book  back  ! 
I'll  call  for  it  to-morrow  night !  " 

He  knocked  firmly  at  the  door  of  the  Mamie  house- 
hold. A  miniature  version  of  Mamie  appeared.  He 
asked  if  Philip  Massel  could  see  Miss  Mamie.  .  .  .  The 
child  disappeared  into  the  sitting-room  half-way  along 
the  passage.  A  whispering  which  seemed  to  last  many 
minutes  followed.  Then  the  child  reappeared  and 
ushered  him  into  the  room.  The  glare  of  an  admirable 
incandescent  mantle  blinded  him  for  a  moment.  There 
were  three  or  four  people  in  the  room  but  immediately 
he  only  recognized  Mrs.  Hannetstein.  A  familiar  voice 
addressed  him. 

"  Oh,  good  evening,  Mr. — er —  Massel,  so  glad  you've 
called !  " 

He  turned  to  the  source  of  the  voice.    Good  heavens,  m 
was  that  Mamie  ?    Hell,  she'd  got  her  hair  up  !    You  i|j 
couldn't  quite  compare  her  to  Harry's  discovery,  but 
she  was  years  older  than  she  had  seemed  !   He  was  aware 
she  had  called  him  Mr,  Massel.   He  would  have  to  follow 


APHRODITE  281 

suit.  Perhaps  it  was  mere  intrigue.  He  held  out  his 
arm  waveringly.  "  Good  evening,  Miss  ..."  He 
found,  to  his  despair,  he  had  entirely  forgotten  her 
surname.  "I  mean,  Miss  ..."  He  coughed  unhappily. 
But  Mamie,  so  far  from  assisting  him  in  his  embarrass- 
ment, was  unaware  of  it. 

"  Mother,  this  is  Mr.  Massel !  We  met,  where  was  it  ? 
Oh,  of  course,  in  Wenton.  Do  you  remember  this 
gentleman,  auntie  ?  He  helped  me  to  escape  from  some 
cows,  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  managed  to  stammer,  "  and  they  were 
ravenous  as  wolves  !    I  was  awfully  brave  !  " 

Everybody  laughed  politely. 

'*  I  was  just  going  to  practise  my  latest  song,  *  Red 
Hearts,  Red  Roses.'  Do  sit  down,^  won't^Jyou  ?  " 
Mamie  pressed. 

"  Thank  you  !  " 

"  So  glad  you've  come,  but  you  don't  mind  my  prac- 
tising this  song  before  my  accompanist  comes,  Mr. 
Mendel,  you  know,  the  famous  violinist !  " 

"  Ah,  Mamie,  ah  !  "  exclaimed  her  aunt  waggishly, 
shaking  the  first  finger  of  her  left  hand  in  humorous 
admonition. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  auntie !  "  Mamie  cried  with  a 
skittishness  almost  elderly.  She'^f  sat  down  at  the 
piano,  and  struck  a  few  chords.  Then|Red  Hearts 
bled.  Red  Roses  drooped  for  some  minutes. 

Philip  sat  stiffly  on  his  chair,  wondering  at  the  precise 
reason  that  had  brought  him  here.  He  wished  she  hadn't 
put  her  hair  up.  He  wondered  dimly  if  he  was  in  love 
with  her.  If  he  was,  he  supposed  he  ought  to  keep  his 
eyes  glued  on  her  face  in  a  peculiarly  tense  way.  But 
it  was  distracting  to  see  her  lips  moving  in  that  active 
manner — like  red  mice,  twisting  ! 

"  Oh,  by  the  way,"  said  Mamie  at  the  conclusion  of 


282  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

her  song.  "I  was  sorry  to  hear  of  your  loss.  Mrs. 
Kraft  told  me.   It  must  have  been  awfully  unpleasant !  " 

"  It  was  rather  rotten ! "  Philip  muttered  with 
difficulty. 

What  a  peculiarly  unreal  air  the  girl  gave  to  sorrow 
and  death.  Inexplicable  creature  !  Was  this  politely 
tittering  oldish  young  lady  the  girl  whose  lips  had  sought 
his  own  like  a  bee  ?  What  was  the  matter  with  him  now, 
or  what  had  been  wrong  then  ?  His  own  pose  on  the 
chair,  the  piano,  ever3rthing  was  strained,  a  little  false. 
But  over  in  Wheatley,  the  cemetery,  the  grave,  there 
was  no  unreality  !  Damp  clay  and  the  sprawling  weeds  1 
No,  he  must  wrench  his  mind  away  from  Wheatley,  or 
he'd  never  be  able  to  peel  the  apple  that  was  lying  in  a 
plate  on  his  knees. 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Hannetstein  comfortably, 
"  Death  comes  to  us  all  sooner  or  later  !  Don't  you  think 
so,  Mr.  Massel  1  '* 

There  seemed  no  reason  to  repudiate  the  assertion. 

Conversation  trickled  in  a  thin  stream.  Philip  was 
conscious  of  a  certain  shght  unease  in  the  air.  Wasn't 
it  about  time  he  was  going  ?  It  certainly  was  time  he 
set  about  doing  what  he  came  to  do.  Then  what  on 
earth  was  it  he  had  come  for  ? 

There  was  a  loud  knock  at  the  door.  "  That'll  be 
Adolf !  "  declared  Mamie,  rising  from  the  piano  stool 
with  a  glad  yelp.    "  Run  to  the  door,  Esther  !  " 

A  masterly  tread  was  heard  along  the  lobby. 

"  There  you  are,  darling  !  "  said  Mamie,  as  a  tall  fair 
gentleman  opened  the  door,  and  stared  possessively 
into  the  room .   * '  Won't  you  put  your  vioHn  down  first  ? ' ' 

He  put  his  violin  down  in  a  corner  with  deUberation 
and  as  deliberately  caught  Mamie  in  his  arms.  That 
ceremony  over,  he  sat  down  and  blinked  inquiringly 
towards  Philip. 


APHRODITE  283 

"  Adolf,  dear,  this  is  a  young  gentleman  who  was 
staying  in  Wenton  when  I  was  there !  "  said  Mamie, 
with  vague  discomfort. 

"  Very  glad  to  meet  him,  to  be  sure  !  "  said  Adolf. 

"Mr.  Massel,  this  is  Adolf  Mendel,  the  violinist! 
My  fiance,"  she  added  with  a  note  of  deferential 
pride. 

Her  fiance  .  .  .  then  she'd  .  .  .  her  ficmce.  .  .  / 

The  blustering,  big-boned  lout,  what  the  devil  did 
he  mean  by  taking  everything  for  granted  in  this 
gruff  cocksure  way !  Had  he  ever  sat  with  her  in  the 
angle  of  a  barn  and  a  haystack,  kissing  like  hell !  Had 
her  eyelashes  ever  .  .  .  and  her  lips  .  .  . 

And  she  there,  the  vampire,  what  did  she  mean  by  it ! 
Oh,  blast  her  and  the  whole  empty-headed  crowd  of 
them  with  their  Red  Roses  and  squeaky  violins  ! 

Anyhow,  thank  God,  it  was  over !  She'd  pricked 
the  bubble  of  his  insufferably  stupid  illusion  !  In  her 
degree  and  kind  she'd  gone  the  way  of  all  the  rest — 
Edie,  Alec,  Harry  !  What  an  idiotic  room  it  was,  with 
its  refined  knick-knacks  on  the  mantelpiece  and  that 
creature  with  her  hair  up  and  the  red-plush-framed 
photograph  of  Blackpool  on  the  piano  !  They  were 
discussing  music  and  songs  with  a  wealth  of  ostenta- 
tious esoteric  detail.  That  was  obvious  enough  surely. 
They  wanted  him  to  clear.  He  rose  to  go.  Mamie  per- 
ceived it  with  alacrity  from  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry  you've  got  to  go  !  "  she  said  effu- 
sively. "  And  I'm  awfully  sorry  about  that  too,  you 
know !  You  will  come  round  again  ?  Shan't  he, 
Adolf,  you'd  love  to  see  Mr.  Massel  again  !  Not  at  all, 
not  at  all ;  oh,  good  night !  " 

On  the  other  side  of  the  door  he  remembered  his 
translation  of  Dante. 

"  Blast  Dante  !  "   he  exclaimed  through  his  teeth. 


284  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

It  was  the  fit  of  profound  misogyny  which  followed 
this  entirely  unsatisfactory  incident  that  fitted  him  so 
completely  for  the  efiusiveness  and  glitter  of  Wilfrid 
Strauss,  and  for  that  interlude  with  Kate  which,  only  too 
conventional  in  its  mere  detail,  was  nevertheless  at  once 
the  end^and  the  beginning  of  Philip  Massel's  boyhood. 


CHAPTEK  XVI 

A  CERTAIN  hesitancy  checks  me  upon  the  appear- 
ance of  Wilfrid  Strauss  in  this  narration;  even 
though  I  am  aware  how  easy  and  profitable  it  is  to  philoso- 
phize upon  the  deus  ex  machina ;  how  it  is  entertaining  to 
demonstrate  that  from  the  flimsiest  accidentals  the  most 
stalwart  essentials  depend.  Yet  the  Wilfrid  Strauss 
phase  in  Philip's  development  is  not  so  much  to  be 
considered  a  stalwart  essential  as  an  exact  statement  of 
accounts,  a  period,  a  signpost  whose  backward  arm 
pointed  to  obscure  chaos,  whose  forward  arm  pointed 
at  least  to  clearer  issues,  more  breadth,  more  light.  It 
is  probable  that  one  Strauss  and  another  had  from  time 
to  time  come  into  some  sort  of  contact  with  Philip, 
for  in  such  communities  as  Whitechapel,  Brownlow 
Hill  and  Doomington,  from  the  turbid  mass  of  Jewish 
tailordom  a  type  perpetually  emerges  which  is  volatile, 
swift,  scornful  of  the  mere  labour  of  hands,  ostentatious 
of  the  agile  intellectual  qualities  which  make  the  type 
invaluable  for  undertakings  rarely  entirely  scrupulous. 
If  previously,  then,  Philip  had  encountered  a  Strauss  in 
embryo  or  in  maturity,  there  was  no  point  at  which 
their  respective  strengths  and  weaknesses  had  met. 
Yet,  in  point  of  fact,  it  is  Eulalie  et  Cie.,  Paris,  of  un- 
defined occupations,  who  have  kept  this  particular  and 
actual  Mr.  Wilfrid  Strauss  too  busily  engaged,  on  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli  and  in  Leicester  Square,  for  his  appearance 
before  this  date  in  the  lesser  thoroughfares  of  Dooming- 

28s 


286  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

ton.  And  it  is  not  possible  to  declare  that  Strauss, 
as  lie  swaggered  gently  down  Transfer  Street  from  the 
Inland  Station,  would  have  met  Philip  Massel  on  any- 
other  afternoon  than  the  May  afternoon  in  the  year  of 
Philip's  history  I  have  now  attained. 

Philip  had  hoped,  earnestly  enough,  as  his  old  asso- 
ciations faded  more  and  more  completely  out  of  his  life, 
to  pass  beyond  the  fog  of  strangeness  which  shrouded 
from  him  the  heart  and  meaning  of  Doomington  School. 
But  he  was  forced  to  realize  that  volition  was  by  no 
means  adequate  to  achieve  this  purpose ;  for  the 
paradoxical  truth  was  borne  in  upon  him,  that,  as  he 
stood,  he  was  somehow  absurdly  too  young  and  incon- 
ceivably too  old  to  take  his  place  simply  among  the  rest. 
The  problem  was  to  be  resolved  only  by  deliberate 
action,  and  action  was  wholly  beyond  his  reach.  He 
could  drift  sombrely  with  the  tide  of  his  own  ineffectual 
melancholy,  but  the  lassitude  that  softened  his  limbs 
prevented  him  from  striking  out  against  the  current. 

He  fell  into  the  habit,  therefore,  of  following  for  long 
hours  the  similar  roads  of  Doomington,  the  amorphous 
monster  which  had  always  stretched  so  vaguely,  so 
inscrutably,  beyond  his  own  steely  horizons.  In  one 
direction  you  reached  the  museum  where  the  mummies 
were  embalmed  in  such  fatuous  splendour  ;  southward 
lay  the  University  galleries  where  the  skeleton  of  some 
immense,  extinct  beast  swung  terrifyingly  from  the  roof. 
Northward  the  road  led  far  and  far  away  to  a  place 
where  suddenly  three  chimneys  sprang  like  giants 
against  the  throat  of  the  sky.  Or  in  the  centre  of  the 
city,  at  the  extremes  of  the  bibliophilic  world,  were  the 
handcarts  whose  books  concerned  themselves  mainly 
with  the  salvation  of  your  soul,  and  the  plate-glass- 
windowed  shops  of  Messrs.  Dobrett  and  Lees  and  Messrs. 
Hornel,  whose  books  were  recommended  as  admirable 


APHRODITE  287 

companions  for  your  motor  tours  under  the  Pyrenees 
and  your  yachting  cruises  in  the  Mediterranean. 

It  was  a  lifeless  youth,  sick  at  heart,  prematurely 
flotsam,  he  mourned,  on  the  indifferent  waters  of  life, 
who  passed  one  afternoon  under  the  shadow  of  the  Stock 
Exchange,  along  Transfer  Street  and  in  the  direction 
of  Consort  Square,  where  his  defunct  Highness  stood 
isolated  and  unhappy  among  the  conflicting  currents 
of  tramcars.  But  Philip  saw  nothing,  heard  nothing 
clearly,  and  paused  not  even  a  moment  before  the 
innumerable  display  of  the  latest  Rhodesian  novel 
behind  the  windows  of  Messrs.  Dobrett  and  Lees'  shop. 
A  book  swung  vacantly  between  finger  and  thumb  as  he 
walked  vacantly  along.  And  he  was  so  startled  when  a 
distinguished  young  stranger  stopped  him  to  ask  a 
question  that  the  book  slipped  to  the  ground.  Not  so 
much  the  sudden  vision  of  what  Philip  conceived  to  be 
the  most  immaculate  of  grey  tweeds  as  the  easy  refine- 
ment of  the  young  gentleman's  voice  took  him  aback. 
Philip  flushed  and  bent  down  towards  the  book. 

"  Oh,  allow  me,  allow  me  !  "  said  the  stranger.  "  It 
was  entirely  my  fault !  "  He  stooped  gallantly,  lifted 
the  book,  and  with  a  mauve  silk  handkerchief  flicked, 
off  the  Doomington  dust. 

"  Thank  you  !  "  said  Philip.  "  No,  really,  it  was  my 
fault !    I  forgot  I  was  holding  it !  " 

The  other  made  a  courtly  gesture  of  remonstrance. 
"  This  is  the  way,  isn't  it,"  he  repeated,  '*  to  Blenheim 
Road  ?  " 

Philip  considered  a  moment.  "  It's  rather  compli- 
cated if  you've  not  been  there  before.  You  see,  you've 
first  got  to  turn  to  the  left.  And  then,  let  me  see  .  .  . 
Or  you  might  take  the  car  .  .  .  But  look  here,  I'm  not 
doing  anything  special  just  now.  If  you'd  like,  I 
could  ..." 


288  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

There  was  something  attractively  full-blooded  about 
the  stranger,  though  it  was  true  that  the  gloss — there 
seemed  hardly  another  word — the  almost  boot-polish 
perfection  of  his  appearance,  was  a  little  overwhelming. 
It  would  be  easy  enough  to  put  him  on  the  Brownel 
Gap  car  which  would  lead  him  to  the  top  end  of  Blen- 
heim Road.  Yet  Philip  felt  somehow  reluctant  to 
disattach  himself  so  promptly  from  the  stranger,  to 
allow  him  merely  to  merge  into  the  tumult  and  mist. 

"  If  1  dared  to  encroach  ..."  hesitated  the  polite 
young  man.  It  was,  of  course,  an  unworthy  sentiment, 
particularly  in  a  Communistic  bosom  .  .  .  and  yet 
one  could  not  help  feeling  that  to  be  seen  talking  to  a 
stranger  of  this  calibre  was  rather  a  distinction.  All 
the  people  he  had  rubbed  shoulders  with  to-day,  what 
dull  faces  they  had,  threadbare  suits,  dry  lips  mouthing 
*'  Cotton,  cotton,  cotton  !  "  even  to  themselves  !  This 
young  man  was  wearing  the  most  smartly  tailored  of 
grey  tweed  suits,  shoes  of  metropolitan  brilliance,  a 
velours  hat  whose  ample  brims  shadowed,  expensively, 
quick  green  eyes,  a  slightly  squat  nose,  and  lips  attuned, 
as  one  might  judge  from  a  slight  thickness  and  their 
broad  curves,  to  Bacchic  riot  and  to  kissing,  even,  it 
might  well  be,  to  the  more  recondite  pleasures  of  the 
flesh.  The  last  thought  checked  Philip.  Yes,  there  was 
something  full-blooded  to  the  verge  of  coarseness  in 
that  mouth  !  Wasn't  all  this  talk  about  taxis  and  one's 
own  little  two-seater,  a  hell  of  a  scooter,  you  know,  just 
a  little  too  ostentatious  ?  After  all,  a  gentleman  in  the 
complete  sense  of  the  word  could  deduce  from  one's 
clothes,  for  instance  ... 

The  stranger  interrupted  himself  suddenly,  then  stared 
at  Philip  with  some  intentness.  Then  he  lifted  his 
forefinger  to  his  nose  and  asked  "  Zog  mir,  hist  a  Yid  ? 
Tell  me,  thou  art  a  Jew  ?  " 


APHRODITE  289 

Not  merely  the  intonation  of  the  voice  had  changed, 
so  that  the  cadence  of  Leicester  Square  had  subtly 
become  the  chant  of  the  Yeshiveh,  but  its  very  timbre  was 
different,  thicker,  more  ingenuous,  infinitely  more 
homely. 

"  Ich  hin  !  "  replied  Philip,  perhaps  a  little  stiffly. 

"  So  you're  one  of  us  then,  eh  ?  well,  all's  well !  I  want 
you  to  help  me,  kid  !  " 

A  note  of  bonhommie  had  entered  the  voice.  "  You 
say  you  can  come  along  this  way,  can  you  ?  Good  ! 
Do  you  mind  ?  I'm  going  to  take  you  into  my  confidence, 
ifyou'Uletmel" 

Philip  blinked.    He  felt  a  momentary  difficulty  in  his^ 
breathing,  as  if  he  had  been  running.   A  little  sudden, 
one  might  think.  ...  >^ 

"  What  do  you  say  to  just  getting  in  here  for  a  moment 
till  we  see  where  we  are  1  "  They  withdrew  into  the 
doorway  of  a  block  of  offices.  "  The  fact  is,  I've  got  a 
job  which  is  going  to  keep  me  in  and  about  Doomington 
for  a  few  months  and  I  don't  know  a  soul  in  the  place. 
To  tell  the  truth,  I've  managed  to  avoid  Doomington 
till  now.  .  .  .  Now  isn't  that  a  tactful  thing  to  say  to 
a  native  !  I  suppose  you  do  belong  to  the  place,  don't 
you  ?  But  look  here,  you  don't  mind  me  buttonholing 
you^^like  this,  do  you  now  ?  Perfect  stranger  and  that 
sort^of  thing !  " 

There  was  no  doubt  he  was  a  thoroughly  engaging 
young  fellow.  And  at  this  moment  Allen  of  the  Sixth 
passed  by,  a  celebrated  swell  so  far  as  school  swells 
went.  Allen  looked  merely  dowdy  now,  with  his  some- 
what down-at-heel  brown  brogues  and  the  silver  braid 
round  his  prefectorial  cap  coming  loose  at  the  peak. 
Philip  was  sure  that  Allen  had  glanced  a  little  enviously 
towards  himself  and  with  real  respect  at  the  stranger. 
But  who    could   resist  the    dapper   waist    cunningly 


290  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

conferred  upon  the  young  man  by  some  prince  of 
tailors  ? 

"  It's  very  decent  of  you  indeed  !  "  Philip  muttered. 
"  I  appreciate  it.  You  know  if  1  can  be  of  any  help  at 
all,  I'll  be  only  too  pleased  !  " 

A  grin  extended  the  corners  of  the  stranger's  mouth. 
He  almost  ogled  Philip  as  he  replaced  finger  to  ever-so- 
shghtly-aquiline  nose. 

"  A  charming  Httle  speech,  charming  !  I'm  developing 
my  theories  about  you,  so  help  me !  A  lady's  man, 
that's  what  ijou  are,  a  regular  lady's  man  !  One  has  met 
your  type,  you  know,  up  and  down  the  place  !  " 

Philip  was  not  over  pleased  by  this  invariable  insist- 
ence on  the  part  of  strangers  that  he  was  a  "  lady's 
man,"  that  he  had  a  "  way  with  him,"  that  they  had 
"  met  your  type,  you  know,  up  and  down  the  place  !  " 
He  coughed  a  little  awkwardly.  "  I  hate  women  !  " 
he  declared  with  vivid  retrospect  and  pained  convic- 
tion. 

The  other  laughed  a  little  too  loudly.  "  And  a  jolly 
good  joke,  ha,  ha  !  Hate  women — gee,  what  an  idea ! 
But  more  of  the  ladies  anon  !  Let's  just  settle  the  matter 
in  hand !  "  He  made  a  motion  towards  the  suit  case 
at  his  feet. 

"  Let  me  take  your  bag  !  "  demanded  Phihp,  with 
tardy  pohteness. 

"  Not  for  a  moment !  It's  quite  light,  anyhow.  My 
real  luggage  is  at  the  station  and  it's  as  much  as 
I'm  worth  with  Eulahe  et  Cie. — my  employers,  you 
know,  Paris," — he  paused  to  give  the  information  its 
exact  importance, — "  as  much  as  I'm  worth  to  let  this 
little  Johnny  out  of  my  hand,  God  bless  it !  But 
listen,  I've  got  something  to  ask  you.  Would  you 
first  tell  me  your  name  ?  Pardon  ?  Massel !  Oh,  yes ; 
good  name,  solid  !    Here's  mine  !  " 


APHRODITE  291 

He  tenderly  replaced  his  bag  between  his  feet  and 
withdrew  a  card  from  an  expensive  leather  case. 
"  Wilfrid  Strauss,  ne  Wolfie,  but  don't  tell  any  one  ! 
You  can't  sell  ladies'  vanities  and  gentlemen's — er — 
gentlemen's  comforts,  don't  you  know,  with  a  name 
like  Wolfie,  can  you  now  ?  " 

Philip  slightly  demurred. 

Strauss  Ufted  eyebrows  of  fleeting  disapproval. 
"  Wolfie,  impossible  patronymic  !  Tell  me  now,  I  want 
to  get  into  a  Jewish  boarding  house.  You  see  the 
Doomington  trade  is  absolutely  in  Jewish  hands  and 
they're  threatening  to  undercut  .  .  .  but  don't  let  me 
talk  shop  !  How  about  it  ?  Blenheim  Road  is  the  sort 
of  district,  I  understand  ?  I  don't  generally  associate 
myself  with  the  Only  Race,  as  you  can  perhaps  appre- 
ciate, so  to  speak,  but  you're  beginning  to  see  the  line 
of  attack,  eh  ?  " 

PhiUp  pressed  his  shoulder  blades  against  the  wall  to 
re-establish  his  sense  of  reality.  "  Quite  so,  quite  so  !  " 
he  replied  weakly. 

"  You  can  be  of  help  to  me,  old  man,  if  you  would  ? 
I  mean,  you  know  the  local  ropes  and  that's  half  the 
game !  " 

At  least  here  was  Strauss  adumbrating  interests 
definite,  if  not  exalted,  some  sort  of  terminus  ad  quern. 
How  nauseatingly  void  and  vain  had  hfe  in  Doomington 
become  ! 

Strauss  proceeded.  "  Another  thing  !  I've  developed 
a  sudden  consuming  passion  for,  what  d'you  caU  'em, 
creplach,  absolutely  soaked  in  shnaltz,  you  know  the 
sort  .  .  .  and  potato  hlintsies  .  .  .  and  let  me  see, 
there's  tnatneliggy,  um,  yes,  mameliggy  !  " 

Memories  of  the  curiously-flavoured  Roumanian 
dish  as  served  on  special  occasions  by  Mrs.  SewelsoD 
vividly  presented  themselves. 


292  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

"  Oh,  so  you're  a  Roumanian,  Mr.  ...  I  mean, 
Strauss  ?  "   Philip  juxtaposed. 

"  No,  no,  don't  misunderstand  !  One  of  my  great  pals 
in  the  old  Mincing  Lane  days,  Rupert  Kahn — poor 
devil,  he's  doing  twelve  months  now,  somebody  told  me 
— was  engaged  to  a  Roumanische  nekaveh  for  a  time, 
till  he  made  ofi  with  the  engagement  rings  and  her 
silver  combs,  and  you  couldn't  blame  him  either — 
calves  hke  the  hind  legs  of  an  elephant — Oh,  appalling ! 
.  .  .  But  I  say,  don't  you  think  we'd  better  be  moving 
on  ?  "  Strauss  interrupted  himself.  They  emerged  from 
the  doorway  and  Strauss  slipped  his  arm  through 
Phihp's  as  though  the  dawn  of  their  acquaintance  was 
already  ancient  history. 

"  Where  the  hell  am  I  wandering  off  to,  Massel,  old 
dear  ?  "  Strauss  specidated.  "  I'm  afraid  I'm  a  trifle 
light-headed.  It  must  be  that  champagne  the  Inland 
Company  so  beneficently  provide,  eh  ?  Half  a  bottle 
of  fizz  always  cuts  more  of  a  dash  than  a  whole  of 
Sauterne,  although  it's  not  strictly  the  thing  for  lunch, 
would  you  say  ?  Still,  it's  worth  the  difference,  every 
time  !    What's  your  preference  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I'm  not  much  of  a  connoisseur  myself ! 
Palestine's  wine's  about  as  far  as  I've  gone,  with 
occasional  whiskey  and  lekkachj^  —  Strauss  looked 
puzzled — "  you  know,  those  curly  little  cakes  !  It's  not 
been  quite  my  line,  somehow  !  " 

"  Poor  old  thing  ! '.'  mused  Strauss.  "  You've  not 
moved  very  far  and  that's  a  fact !  At  about  your  age 
— I  think  my  calculations  are  right — I'd  spent  three  or 
four  week-ends  with  Marjorie  in  Brighton  .  .  .  Oh, 
curse  the  man !  Him  and  his  dirty  Doomington  man- 
ners !  "  The  youth  scowled  uglily.  Somebody,  evidently 
displeased  by  the  expansive  manner  Strauss  had  adopted 
for  his  procession  down  Transfer  Street,  had  thrust  a 


APHRODITE  298 

vicious  elbow  into  the  grey  tweed  waist.  For  one 
horrible  moment  it  seemed  that  Strauss  was  mobilizing 
his  resources  for  a  punitive  expectoration,  but  the  West 
End  reassumed  control  in  time  and  Strauss  continued : — 

"  Oh,  yes,  Brighton,  Marjorie,  as  I  was  sa5dng !  That 
girl  was  a  sponge,  nothing  more  or  less !  She'd  just 
open  her  mouth  and  pour  the  stuff  down  like  rainwater 
pouring  down  a  spout.  Gee,  that's  a  while  ago  now ! 
Still,  I  don't  think — damn  those  motors  ! — a  show  like 
Transfer  Street  is  the  place  for  one's  confessions,  what 
do  you  say  ?  One  oughtn't  to  let  oneself  rip  like  this, 
but  you've  got  the  sort  of  face  one  can  trust,  Massel,  if 
I  may  say  so.  Somehow  I  generally  manage  to  land  on 
my  feet  when  1  arrive  inTa  strange  town,  though  I  take 
no  credit  to  myself  for  it,  mark  you !  I  remember  once, 
first  time  I  landed  in  Bordeaux  .  .  .  But  for  God's 
sake  let's  go  somewhere  and  have  some  tea.  Then  we 
can  discuss  the  boarding-house  business  and  the  way 
the  wind  blows  in  Doomington.  How  do  you  feel  about 
it  ?  " 

They  had  arrived  some  time  ago  at  the  point  where 
Transfer  Street  crosses  the  pride  of  the  city,  the  thorough- 
fare called  Labour  Street.  A  stream  of  vehicles  passing 
transversely  had  held  them  up,  but  when  at  last  the 
policeman  raised  a  hand  in  potent  arrest,  the  two  youths 
crossed  and  found  themselves  facing  the  Crystal  Cafe. 

"  This  looks  rather  the  kind  of  place  I  "  exclaimed 
Strauss.    "  What's  it  like  ? "  ,  -J^ 

The  inside  of  the  gilded  eating-houses  that  threw  the 
glare  of  their  lamps  and  the  smells  of  their  cooking 
into  Labour  Street  had  hitherto  occupied  Philip's 
attention  for  a  curious  moment  at  most.  His  ignorance 
seemed  now  to  be  a  grave  lacuna  in  his  education. 
"  Sorry,  not  the  vaguest  idea   !"•  her  protested  ruefully.?  1 

"  Hold,  1  hear  music !    Say,  boy,  I  guess  we'll  try  the 


294  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

dandy  li'l  place  riglit  now  !  *'  declared  Strauss,  with  an 
artful  introduction  of  the  appropriate  accent.  They 
entered,  and  the  host  ordered  a  delicate  meal  with  some 
grandeur.  Philip  found  the  marble-faced  walls  a  little 
ugly,  but  distinctly  rich  and  impressive.  The  gentle- 
men in  the  orchestra  he  found  also  ugly,  also  distinctly 
rich  and  impressive  ;  particularly  the  florid  gentleman 
at  the  piano,  whose  moustache  wandered  so  persis- 
tently into  his  mouth  that  he  gave  up  the  attempt  to 
blow  it  away  and  endeavoured  to  reconcile  himself  to 
the  taste.  He  was  so  very  inflated,  would  the  sudden 
puncture  of  a  pin  dismiss  him  into  thin  air  ?  Anyhow 
the  marble  seemed  solid  enough.  Philip  surrepti- 
tiously passed  his  hand  along  the  marble  behind  him 
to  assure  himself.  His  head  was  in  a  whirl.  His  friend- 
ship with  the  garrulous,  glittering  youth  (Strauss  made 
dainty  play  with  his  fingers  to  display  two  quite  ad- 
mirable rings,  and  there  was  a  gleam  of  gold  cufl-Unks 
from  shirt -sleeves  which  he  seemed  dehberately  to  have 
pulled  down  an  excessive  inch),  his  friendship  with 
Strauss  had  developed  at  so  kinematic  a  speed  that  he 
was  half  afraid  he  could  hear  himself  panting  over  the 
chocolate  eclairs. 

At  least  he  had  breath  enough  to  tender  such  informa- 
tion as  he  possessed  concerning  Jewish  boarding-houses, 
the  people  who  might  be  considered  the  "  swells  "  of 
the  community,  which  synagogues  would  provide  the 
happiest  hunting-grounds  for  chase  not  strictly  specified, 
and  a  number  of  kindred  aflairs.  He  discovered  that  he 
was  usefuller  than  he  had  anticipated.  He  said  to  himself 
humorously  that  he  was  blossoming  into  a  man  of  the 
world.  Much  fascinating  conversation,  or  more  strictly, 
monologue,  followed,  on  matters  less  professional.  It 
was  laid  down  as  axiomatic  that  every  young  fellow 
under  eighteen,  worth  the  least  grain  of  his  salt,  knew 


APHRODITE  295 

what's  what — a  phrase  Philip  had  already  encountered, 
but  here,  obviously,  endowed  with  a  more  intimate 
meaning  than  hitherto.  When  Strauss  requested  him 
to  choose  between  the  Turkish  and  Russian  compart- 
ments of  his  cigarette  case,  he  felt  it  behoved  him  to 
patronize  the  Turkish,  for  a  recondite  technical  reason 
which  at  once  did  high  credit  to  his  own  imagination 
and  satisfactorily  impressed  his  friend.  A  number  of 
entertaining  adventures  were  narrated  by  Strauss, 
illustrative  of  the  nature  of  what's  what.  There  was 
Flo  in  the  punt  at  Richmond.  Oh,  of  course,  a  married 
woman,  she  was  !  But  then  her  own  husband  had  intro- 
duced her  with  a  wink  which  meant  merely,  "  Go 
ahead,  Wilfrid,  old  duck,  go  ahead !  "  And  there  was 
silly  old  Bobby — insisted  on  wearing  a  wedding  ring 
at  Bournemouth,  and  Jimmy  Gluckstein  had  spread 
the  news  that  he'd  settled  down  in  decent  matrimony. 
Did  a  chap  no  end  of  harm,  that  sort  of  thing  !  And, 
'struth,  yes,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  that  ducky  little  French  bit, 
Flory !  Her  mother,  moaning  with  toothache,  had 
interrupted  them  at  about  two  in  the  morning.  There'd 
only  just  been  time  to  shp  under  the  bed.  And  it  was 
March,  too,  March  in  Paris  !  From  two  till  seven  in  the 
morning,  mark  you !  Grr-grr !  .  .  .  From  Strauss's 
enjoyment  of  the  tale  one  could  not  help  deducing  that 
he  felt,  at  least  after  this  lapse  of  time,  that  his  part 
in  the  episode  was  indisputably  the  most  enjoyable, 
even  the  most  dignified.  .  .  .  And  oh,  yes,  talking  about 
four-posters  .  .  .  there  was  Fanny  .  .  .  you  should 
have  heard  .  .  .  another  cigarette  ?  .  .  .  and  when 
her  real  boy  came  .  ,  .  camisole  .  .  .  about  time  we 
went  ...  Oh  no,  no,  don't  mention  it !  .  .  ." 

Yes,  of  course,  PhiUp  would  be  delighted  to  accompany 
Strauss  to  Mrs.  Levinsky's,  in  Blenheim  Road.  But  wait 
^  moment,  why  not  try  Mrs.  Lipson's,  in  Brownel  Gap, 


296  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

next  door  to  Halick,  the  dentist  ?  It  was  quite  near 
to  both  the  Reformed  and  the  Portuguese  Synagogues, 
a  useful  base  for  operations.  .  .  .  And  it  was  at  Mrs. 
liipson's  that  Philip  saw  Strauss  duly  installed — after 
a  dalliance  in  a  bar  parlour  where  Strauss  drank  a 
cocktail  to  fortify  himself  against  the  shock  of  his 
resumption  into  his  tribe's  bosom,  and  where  Philip, 
school  cap  stuffed  mournfully  into  trousers  pocket, 
could  not  but  accept  a  port  and  lemon  for  "  old  time's 
sake." 

"  You'll  be  certain,  Philip,  to  call  round  for  me  to- 
morrow about  twelve !  "  exhorted  Strauss,  as  Philip 
at  last  left  him  that  evening.  "  What's  that,  school  ? 
Oh,  bother  it,  I  forgot !  Good  old  Philip,  sitting  at 
a  nice  desk  doing  multiplication  sums  and  putting  his 
hand  up  with  the  answer  !  " 

"  Look  here  !  "  Philip  objected  rawly.  Yet  it  was 
difficult  to  shake  off  the  temptation  to  believe  that  from 
more  than  one  point  of  view,  this,  after  all,  was  a  fair 
epitome  of  scholastic  labour.  "  School's  all  right ! 
There's  a  good  deal  in  it  beyond  books  and  things  !  "  he 
reflected  with  some  wistfulness.  But  the  basement 
playground-restaurant  compared  rather  dingily,  he 
was  uncomfortably  conscious,  with  the  blare  and  marble 
of  the  Crystal  Cafe. 

"  Well,  you're  outgrowing  it  pretty  quickly,  I  can  say 
that  for  you  !  What  do  you  say  to  coming  round  to- 
morrow evening  ?  You  could  take  me  the  round  of 
the  district  .  .  .  and  what  about  a  music  hall  to  wind 
up  with  ?  " 

"  I  can't  let  you  do  all  this  for  me !  It  wouldn't 
be  playing  the  game  !  I  mean  we've  only  met  to-day 
and  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  business  side  of 
things,  and  you  see  I  don't  get  much  money  myself. 
1  just  give  lessons  to  a  master-tailor.  .  .  ." 


APHRODITE  297 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  old  boy  !  I'll  expect  you  to  do  tbe 
same  for  me,  with  interest,  when  I'm  down  on  my  luck  ! 
Not  a  word  more  !  Five  o'clock,  you  think  ?  Good  ! 
Well,  so  long,  old  dear !  Take  a  Turkish  to  smoke  on 
the  way  home  !  " 

"Er— thanks!    So  long  !    Till  to-morrow  !  " 

At  the  appointed  time  next  day,  at  the  very  door  of 
Mrs.  Lipson's  boarding-house,  Philip  was  seized  with  a 
sudden  vehement  impulse  to  turn  his  back  upon  his 
new  friend,  simmering  enthusiastically  somewhere 
beyond  those  kosher  portals.  Where  after  all  was  it 
leading  to  ?  The  most  insensitive  nostril  could  not  fail 
to  register  the  faint  odour  of  corruption  which  hung 
about  Wilfrid  Strauss.  Somehow  that  impeccable  grey 
tweed  suit  was  more  shoddy  than  the  corduroys  of 
that  poor  old  devil  trundling  a  wheelbarrow  beside  the 
gutter.  Yet  whither  did  all  the  other  roads  lead  ? 
Whatever  the  landscape  on  the  journey,  whatever 
pitiful  doctrine  guided  you,  where  else  but  to  a  Wheatley 
cemetery,  damp  clay,  a  towsled  dog  barking  emptily  ? 
And  how  was  Strauss  less  vahant  a  companion  thither 
than  Harry  and  Alec  and  the  rest  ?  If  he  preferred  to 
chase,  not  the  shadow,  but  the  glittering  substance, 
who  could  blame  him  ?  A  fine  specimen  he  himself  had 
become  !  Hardly  a  person  in  Doomington  to  talk  to  ; 
at  home  the  unresponsive  books — Swift  and  Lamb 
beginning  to  gesticulate  as  littl^i  inteUigibly  as  his  faded 
poets  ;  at  school,  still  the  unsealed  barriers  !  Nothing 
left  but  to  moon  about  the  streets,  remembering, 
regretting — hoping  never.  What,  indeed,  was  there  to 
hope  for  ?  The  old  loyalties  were  annulled,  the  old 
dreams  crumbled  !  i  Heigh-ho,  thank  God  for  Wilfrid 
Strauss  and  for  noise.  Life  !  It  was  a  chap's  duty  to 
himself  to  know  what  Life  meant  before  Life  had  done 


298  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

with  him,  thrown  him  aside  into  that  long,  narrow 
dustbin.  .  .  . 

He  knocked.  The  sound  came  sharp  and  clear 
like  a  challenge  against  the  tedium  which  had  been 
stupefying  him  for  so  weary  a  time. 

Strauss  was  delighted,  charmed.  He  had  been  troubled 
by  spasmodic  doubts  as  the  afternoon  wore  on.  Would 
Massel  turn  up  after  all  ?  There  was  something  in  the 
lad  he  couldn't  quite  fathom,  something  which  migh* 
turn  Philip  away  from  him  in  the  mysterious  manner  so 
many  people  he  had  particularly  wished  to  please  had, 
from  time  to  time,  turned  away.  He  hoped  he'd  turn 
up  if  only  to  save  him  the  strenuous  necessity  of  dis- 
covering somebody  else  likely  to  show  him  the  ropes 
economically.  Besides,  there  was  something  distinctly 
pleasing  about  the  youth.  If  only  he'd  dress  a  little 
better.  .  .  .  Anyhow,  he  was  going  to  be  useful  if  merely 
as  a  guide — though  one  couldn't  call  him  exactly  a 
business  man.  He'd  more  than  repay  the  price  of  a  tea 
and  a  theatre  now  and  again.  And  if  he'd  only  allow 
himself  to  be  initiated  into  the  business,  what  confidence 
he  would  arouse  in  the  most  chary  breast ! 

There  was  a  value  in  Philip's  friendship  Strauss  did 
not  recognize  so  consciously.  It  gave  him  a  peculiar 
satisfaction  to  observe  the  deference  that  PhiHp  naively 
paid  to  his  exhibition  of  nis  vanities  ;  a  satisfaction 
increased  by  the  knowledge  that  Philip  was  a  "  college 
lad."  It  was  amusing  to  gibe  at  "  college  lads,"  to  be 
sure,  and  one  didn't  actually  desire  to  be  a  "  college  lad," 
yet  one  could  not  help  vulgarly  and  secretly  envying 
them.  ...  In  any  case,  it's  easy  enough  to  get  rid  of 
a  chap  when  he's  outlived  his  use.  Hadn't  he  already 
made  that  discovery  often  enough  ?  Time  enough  for 
that  ..."  Come  in,  old  man,  come  in  !  Risk  a  whiskey 
and  soda  1  " 


APHRODITE  299 

The  tawdry  gaieties  Strauss  had  in  his  command 
followed  in  bewildering  succession.  Books  seemed  to 
become  less  and  less  important  as  the  furtive  weeks 
passed  by.  If  a  memory  of  his  mother  came  palely  before 
him,  he  would  the  more  speedily  betake  himself  to  the 
company  of  Wilfrid  Strauss.  lb  was  difficult  to  retain 
those  old  musics  of  Shelley  when  the  brass  beUowed 
windily  across  the  Regent  Roller-Skating  Rink,  and  the 
girls  cackled  in  your  ear.  No  long  time  elapsed  before 
Strauss  had  made  the  rounds  of  the  less  reputable  cafes, 
the  more  shady  music  halls,  and,  finally,  the  Dooming- 
ton  Zoological  Gardens,  with  their  alfresco  dancing  at 
the  borders  of  the  lake.  The  delights  of  the  gardens 
were  only  vitiated  for  Philip  by  the  inexorable  custom 
which  demanded  that  each  male  should  at  rigid  intervals 
kiss  his  paramour — "  strag  "  was  the  recognized  term — 
in  the  ludicrously  inadequate  shelter  of  a  laurel 
shrub. 

There  followed  more  than  these.  There  followed 
Kate  and  her  lazy  eyes  and  the  yelp  of  her  animal 
laughter. 

"  Deeper,  deeper,  deeper !  "  became  the  insistent 
burden  in  Philip's  brain.  Closer  round  his  feet  the  mud 
was  gathering.  Yet  against  this  one  thing  he  long 
managed  to  stand  out,  though  Strauss  would  return  to 
him,  rubbing  his  eyes  sleepily,  or  smacking  his  lips  with 
luxurious  appreciation.  Delicately  Strauss  would 
suggest  how  illogical  his  position  was,  how,  seeing  it  was 
necessary  to  take  the  plunge  sooner  or  later,  why  not 
now,  old  sport  ? 

Why  not  ?  More  and  more  cynical  his  solitary  mind 
was  becoming,  ever  the  more  solitary  as  Strauss  and  he 
were  more  closely  entangled  in  the  cult  of  their  pleasures. 
What  else  did  women  mean  ?  They  would  die,  he  would 
die,  securely  enough  all  of  them,  whatsoever  happened 


800  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

in  the  interspace.  Alec's  old  philosophy  was  gaining 
new  confirmation.  What  inhibitions  did  Life  hold  by 
which  a  youth  should  not  probe  for  the  honey  of  experi- 
ence, each  flower,  chaste  or  poisonous,  that  opened  to 
the  sun  or  moon  ? 

"  Feivele !  "  ventured  Reb  Monash  to  him  one  shahhos 
morning,  "  Tell  me,  what  is  this  lord's  son  that  takes 
thee  about  ?  I  saw  thee  with  him  in  Brownel  Gap  on 
Tuesday  when  I  was  going  to  Rabbi  Shimmon.  Thou 
didst  not  see  me,  no  1  Or  maybe  it  suits  thee  not — 
when  thou  art  with  thy  lord's  son  ?  The  town  talks  ! 
Tell  me  then,  what  wills  he  with  thee  ?  It  likes  me 
him  not !  " 

"  Oh,  for  God's  sake,  tatte  ....'" 

For  one  moment  the  flame  of  the  extinguished  con- 
flict seemed  to  glower  and  spit  from  Philip's  eyes. 
Then  he  recovered  himself.  He  stared  into  the  pallor 
of  his  father's  cheeks,  avoiding  the  eyes,  avoiding  the 
deep  lines  of  fatigue  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 
"  Nothing,  tatte,  a  friend  !  What  will  you  ?  "  Reb 
Monash  was  about  to  express  his  unease  with  another 
question  when  he  too  checked  himself  and  the  shadow 
of  this  new  friendship  lay  between  them,  heavy,  unex- 
plained. 

But  when  next  Strauss  seductively  introduced  the 
name  of  Kate  into  the  conversation,  Philip  shouted 
suddenly,  at  the  top  of  his  voice — and  in  Cambridge 
Street,  "  Go  to  the  devil,  you're  a  swine  !  "  He  turned 
savagely  on  his  heel  and  attempted  for  four  evenings 
to  attain  emancipation  in  the  Doomington  Reference 
Library.  He  had  not  power  enough,  however,  after 
the  dull  prostration  of  these  months,  to  resist  th« 
suave  note  of  apology  and  invitation  which  arrived  for 
him  on  the  fifth  morning.    A  little  public  house  near  the 


APHRODITE  801 

skating  rink  the  same  evening  found  them  closer  friends 
than  before. 

Channah  was  not  so  easily  subdued  as  Eeb  Monash. 
She  had  heard  ugly  reports — the  girls  at  the  hat  factory 
were  very  eloquent  on  the  subject — concerning  Mr. 
Strauss  and  his '  'igoings  on. "  "Oh,  PhiHp,  Philip,  there's 
a  dear !  Won't  you  now  .  .  .  come,  Feivele  !  Oh, 
do  give  him  up  !  I  hate  him,  I  hate  him  !  Give  him 
up  for  my  sake  !  "  .  .  .  She  returned  frequently  to  the 
attack  and  knew  devastatingly  where  his  defences  were 
weakest.  "Not  for  me,  give  him  up  for  mother's 
lake !  " 

PhiUp  temporized.  He'd  think  about  it.  What  was 
all  the  worry  about ;  couldn't  he  take  care  of  himself  1 
Channah,  really,  old  girl,  what  on  earth  was  there  to 
sing  about  ? 

"  But  think  !  What  would  she  have  said  ?  She'd 
have  .  .  ." 

"  She'd  have  loved  him !  Just  those  httle  ways  that 
any  woman  ..." 

"  Any  woman  !    That's  just  what  1  said  !  " 

"  Oh,  shut  up,  Channah,  for  Heaven's  sake,  shut  up  !  " 

The  collapse  came  suddenly.  It  was  a  shoddy  enough 
affair.  When  Strauss  left  him  with  Kate  in  Kate's 
house  in  Carnford  Avenue  in  order  to  repair  next  door 
with  her  friend,  Patsy  of  the  broad  bosom  and  the  yellow 
hair,  what  was  there  for  the  youth  to  do,  when  Kate 
with  half -closed  eyes,  through  soft  lips  purred,  "  Coming, 
honey  ?  "  what  was  there  but  thickly  to  reply,  "  I'm 
following,  Kate  !  "  while  the  temples  beat  like  hammers 
and  the  banisters  seemed  clammy  with  desire  and 
shame. 

Somewhat  intently  Dorah  examined  him  when  he 
returned  to  Longton  next  morning.    She  dropped  into 


802  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

the  Yiddisli  suitable  for  the  expression  of  deep  feeling. 
"  Nu,  and  where  hast  thou  been  all  night  1  Not 
enough  for  thee  to  come  in  at  twelve,  at  one,  but  thou 
must  spend  the  night  too  !  What  was  ?  Thy  social- 
istic friends  or  thy  wonderful  Lord  Backstreet  ? 
BlegatchieSf  knockabouts,  thy  whole  brotherhood  !  " 

PhiHp  winced.  "  Astronomy  !  "  he  declared  sickly. 
"  We've  been  examining  a  new  ...  a  new  comet !  " 

"It  is  no  good  for  thee,  thy  Astronomy  1  "  she  de- 
clared categorically.  "  Thou  art  a  tablecloth  !  An 
evening  indoors  with  a  book  would  do  thee  no  harm. 
Or  thou  hast  forgotten  how  to  read,  say  ?  " 

All  that  day  he  spent  sitting  in  his  own  bedroom, 
a  closed  book  before  him,  staring  into  the  wall-paper 
beyond.  Neither  thoughts  nor  emotions  stirred  within 
him  ;  only  somewhere  far  down,  there  was  a  sensation 
as  of  a  finger  plucking  at  the  strings  of  an  instrument. 

He  had  arranged  to  see  Kate  once  more,  about  a 
week  later.  There  was  no  conflict  now.  Heavily  he 
saw  the  clock  fingers  creeping  towards  the  hour  of  his 
appointment,  and  Hstlessly  he  closed  the  door  behind 
him.  A  cool,  clear  evening  was  about  them  as  Strauss 
and  Phihp  repaired  towards  Carnford  Avenue,  with  a 
wind  in  their  faces  which,  in  higher  levels,  was  chasing 
clouds  hke  yachts  along  the  channels  of  the  sky.  As 
Kate's  door  closed  behind  them,  the  passing  wind 
seemed  to  Phihp  a  hand  which  had  endeavoured  to 
seize  his  coat,  but,  failing,  moaned  and  subsided  in 
the  dark  threshold  of  the  house. 

The  sensation  of  something  calHng  and  something 
forsworn  did  not  desert  him.  Now  it  was  once  more  a 
wind  attempting  to  circumvent  the  crooked  chimney  and 
sobbing  away  at  length  with  a  rattle  in  its  throat. 
Now  it  was  a  finger  of  flame  leaping  from  the  fire  in 
sudden  appeal,  or  the  sight  of  his  own  face  in  a  looking- 


APHRODITE  803 

glass,  curiously  impressing  upon  Lim  the  fact  that  he 
had  not  only  brought  one  self  to  this  place,  but  many 
selves,  some  of  whom  had  once  played  a  seemlier  part 
in  the  comedy  of  his  days  than  he  who  now  produced  a 
distracted  image  in  Kate's  looking-glass. 

Conversation  flowed  in  the  room  hke  beer  from  a 
pubHc  house  tap,  surfaced  with  froth  and  smelling 
stalely.  He  was  talking  with  the  others,  but  the  lips 
seemed  to  be  as  much  another's  as  his  own,  the  lips  of 
one  over  whom  he  had  triumphed  once  and  again,  but 
who  was  triumphing  now.  ^'ilfrid  Strauss  seemed  a 
mannikin  manufactured  from  a  pUant  glass,  though  he 
showed  his  rings  and  crossed  his  legs  as  if  his  limbs 
were  flesh  and  bone  ;  transparent  almost  he  seemed, 
so  that  the  ugly  design  of  the  wall-paper  was  not  inter- 
cepted by  his  contour  ;  almost  brittle,  as  if,  were  some- 
one to  handle  him  roughly,  he  would  fall  to  the  ground 
in  fragments  tinkhng  sharply.  And  when  finally  he 
withdrew  with  Patsy,  the  peculiar  illusion  remained 
with  Philip  that  he  had  never  in  his  life  encountered  a 
person  whose  farcical  name  was  Wilfrid  Strauss. 

Yet  when  the  woman  whispered  "  Come  !  "  the  friend 
of  Wilfrid  Strauss  did  not  disobey.  The  wind  was  stiU 
clawing  at  the  window-pane  as  they  entered  her  room. 
It  was  only  when  his  eyes  were  closing  in  sleep  that  he 
saw  moonlight  invade  the  room  and  heard  the  wind 
wailing  in  the  last  horizon. 

When  he  awoke  the  room  was  aflood  with  moonlight. 
It  flowed  over  the  bed  making  the  sheets  and  counter- 
pane cloth  of  silver.  The  walls  dropped  from  the  ceiling 
in  straight  falls  of  frozen  mist,  the  floor  shone  hke  a 
beaten  metal.  It  seemed  to  him  that  a  voice  came  upon 
the  path  of  the  moonrays,  a  voice  not  of  sound  but 
light,    saying :     Go  !     If  it  was  the  mother  who  had 


S04  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

seemed  to  be  dead  or  perhaps — could  it  be  1 — that 
woman  lie  had  met  once  in  the  central  gloom  of  Dooraing- 
ton  and  whom  he  could  so  clearly  envision  now,  he  could 
not  decide — that  woman  who  had  long  ago  taken  him 
to  her  bed  on  the  night  when  he  had  fled  from  his  early 
terrors.  Or  perhaps  it  was  none  other  than  his  own 
voice— for  he  was  about  to  break  free  at  last — insis- 
tently sa5dng,  Go,  do  not  delay  ! 

It  was  with  no  sense  of  shame  that  he  rose  from  the 
bed  and  dressed  quietly  in  that  wizard  room.  In  this 
world  of  cool  clear  beauty,  at  this  time  of  vision,  shame 
had  no  place.  Had  he  departed  from  beauty,  from 
vision  ?    He  would  return  thither  again. 

Kate's  hair  lay  over  her  face  as  she  slept.  He 
bent  and  smoothed  her  hair  aside  and  moved  away 
quietly. 

He  opened  the  front  door  of  the  house  and  walked 
along  the  deserted  pavement  of  Camford  Avenue. 
Walking  was  not  swift  enough,  it  was  too  deliberate. 
He  ran,  his  hmbs  loosely  swinging  over  the  dark  streets. 
He  ran  effortlessly  like  a  deer  ghmpsed  through  woods. 
He  had  no  consciousness  of  direction  and  though  he 
ran  far  he  was  not  fatigued.  No  thought  kept 
pace  beside  him  beyond  the  knowledge  of  his 
running. 

A  policeman  appeared  suddenly  from  the  gloom  of  a 
shop  entrance.  He  brought  down  his  hand  menacingly 
on  Philip's  shoulder.    Philip  stopped  dead. 

"  Just  a  tick,  my  fine  young  feller  !  "  the  policeman 
exclaimed.    "  Where  are  ijou  coming  from  ?  " 

"  From  Babylon  !  "  Philip  shouted.  *'  Let  me  go  ! 
Get  out  of  my  way  !  " 

"  B — b — babel — what  ?  "  the  policeman  stammered. 
His  upraised  arm  fell  to  his  side.  The  lad  was  fifty  yards 
away,  once  more  running  swiftly  and  evenly.    Yet  no  ! 


APHRODITE  .       805 

He  wasn't  a  burglar  !  It  wasn't  that !  He  wasn't 
carrying  anything,  and  he  certainly  wasn't  frightened ! 
Drunk  ?  Oh  no,  not  drunk  !  Well  then,  what  the  'ell  ? 
If  it  came  to  anybody  being  frightened  .  .  .  !  He 
lifted  his  helmet,  passed  his  hand  over  his  hair  and  with- 
drew again  into  the  shop  entrance. 

Baxter's  Hill !  No  sense  of  recognition  or  surprise 
arrested  PhiUp  when  he  found  himself  skirting  the  foot 
of  the  hill  and,  before  long,  running  over  the  grassy 
path  by  the  Mitchen  River.  Here  he  had  found  escape 
before  to-night,  here  wall  after  wall  that  girdled  the  city 
of  his  slaveries  had  come  crashing  down  !  But  as  he 
left  the  bridge  behind  him  and  followed  two  or  three 
broad  curves  of  the  river,  out  toward  the  cleaner  spaces 
of  water,  he  was  conscious  only  that  his  strength  was 
almost  spent  and  his  feet  were  dragging.  Suddenly  he 
collapsed.  His  legs  gave  way  at  the  knees  and  his 
forehead  fell  into  thick  grass.  The  strange  elation  which 
had  impelled  him  into  the  night,  in  a  single  moment 
deserted  him.  His  body  was  racked  with  misery,  his 
face  twitched.  With  a  last  effort  he  turned  his  body 
round,  stretched  out  his  arms,  and  lay  staring  into  pas- 
sionless night.  Stark  misery  held  him  clamped  to  the 
ground. 

Vain  and  vain,  he  felt,  his  life  had  been,  his  life 
consummated  now  hj  this  last  treachery  I  Each  of  his 
little  philosophies  had  but  pandered  to  his  conceit,  to 
his  sentimental  stupidities,  imm\ired  him  the  more 
closely  in  the  stinking  castle  of  Self.  Sex  had  led  him 
away  and  he  had  wallowed  in  its  sty — he  who  had 
been  granted,  by  his  living  mother  and  his  dead,  the 
surest  path  into  open  spaces  and  a  wind  from  the 
sea.  .  .  » 

So  for  some  time  in  this  black  despair  he  reproached 
himself  with  having  at  no  time  accepted  the  clean  way. 


306  FORWARD  FROM  BABYLON 

as  having  been  always  odious,  an  insect  in  rotten  wood. 
The  mood  passed.  Another  came,  not  armed  with 
talons,  but  cold,  profound,  hke  a  fog.  How  long  this 
mood  lasted  there  can  be  no  telling.  Yet  it  was  at  the 
very  heart  of  this  desolation  that  he  became  aware  of 
a  warmth  and  a  benediction  which  had  descended  upon 
him.  His  face  was  being  soothed  with  the  contact  of 
kindly  flesh  !  He  heard  the  breathing  of  an  animal.  At 
last  he  knew  that  a  horse  was  moving  its  soft  mouth  up 
and  down  his  face,  assuring  him  that  now  he  might 
throw  aside  his  sorrow,  enter  once  more  into  the  company 
of  innocent  things.  A  few  yards  away  he  perceived 
another  horse  grazing,  a  misty  sweetness  against  the 
background  of  night.  The  beauty  of  the  arched  line  of 
its  neck  seemed  almost  to  arrest  his  heart.  The  horse 
over  him,  as  having  achieved  its  intent,  brought  its 
head  away.  He  could  hear  the  champing  of  its  jaws, 
the  tearing  of  grass. 

The  lad  looked  steadily  towards  the  waned  stars  and 
the  clear  moon.  Much  lay  behind  him,  he  knew.  More 
lay  in  front  of  him.  Beyond  the  bridge  along  the  road, 
deep  in  his  city,  lay  a  little  thing  and  a  great,  the  first 
republic.  School,  whose  citizenship  he  must  yet  earn. 
He  had  moved  there  hitherto  with  averted  ej^es,  a 
stranger.  Thence  great  affairs  and  greater  expanded 
circle- wise,  beyond  race,  beyond  country,  beyond  even 
the  gigantic  world,  out  beyond  the  moon,  the  sun ; 
even — he  laughed  aloud — even  into  the  hazard  of  the 
very  stars  i 

He  rose  fiom  the^grass  and  walked  over  to  the  water's 
edge.  The  air  was  warm  with  the  new  summer.  The 
two  horses  moved  about  near  him,  like  friends.  He  was 
young,  young  1  Come,  it  would  be  morning  soon ! 
Was  a  sleepy  bird  already  singing  a  first  song  ? 

He  slipped  ofi  his  clothes  swiftly  and  dived  into  the 


APHRODITE  807 

water.  When  he  rose  again,  the  water-drops  flung  from 
his  hair  gleamed  like  gems.  It  was  cold,  harshly, 
superbly  cold  ;  but  he  shouted  for  joy  as  he  struck  for 
the  bank  in  the  first  breath  of  the  morning.  The  horses 
rubbed  their  noses  together  and  communed. 


GLOSSARY 

[The  following  Yiddish  words — mainly,  of  course,  of 
Hebrew  or  German  extraction — are  spelt  in  such  a  fashion 
as  rather  to  recall  their  actual  pronunciation  than  to  indicate 
what  is  often  a  dubious  or  mixed  origin.) 

Becher.    Beaker. 

Blintsie.     A  thin  cake,  usually  of  mashed  potatoes,  and 

fried  in  oil. 
Bobbie.    Grandmother. 
Chayder.    A  Hebrew  school. 
Chazan.     A  professional  cantor  at  services. 
Davenning.     The  reciting  of  prayers,  which  must  not  be 

interrupted  by  extraneous  matter. 
Folg  mir.    Obey  me. 
Gollus.    The  dispersion  ;   the  exile. 
Goyishke.    Gentile '(adj.). 
Ligner.    Liar. 

Machzer.     Festival  prayer-book. 
Maggid.     Professional  orator. 
Minchah,     Afternoon  service. 

Minyon.    The  quorum  of  ten  worshippers  for  prayer. 
Mishkosheh,    Be  content  ;   that  will  do. 
Mitzvah.    Lit.  a  command  ;   hence,  a  pious  act. 
Nekaveh.    A  female. 
Perinny.     An  exaggerated  eiderdown. 
Shabbos.     The  Sabbath  Day,  Saturday,  on  which,  among 

many  prohibitions,  it  is  forbidden  to  ride. 
Shiksah.    A  Gentile  girl. 
Shmaltz.    Fat,  usually  of  fowls. 
Shmeis.    To  give  a  whipping. 
Shool.    Synagogue. 
Takke.    Indeed. 

Tallus  and  Tephilim.     Praying-shawl  and  phylacteries. 
Yamelke.     Skull-cap. 
Yeshiveh.    A  highly  advanced  chayder. 
Yom  tov.    Lit.  a  good  day ;  hence,  festivaL 
Zadie.    Grandfather. 

T/te  May/lower  Press,  Plymouth,  England.     William  Brendon  &  Son,  Ltd. 


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